


A Vengeance So Sweet; or When Harry Met Draco and Ended Their WarGames

by lilithilien



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blanket Permission, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-21
Updated: 2008-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-19 16:07:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithilien/pseuds/lilithilien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cast your mind back to 1997 and to a little film called <i>Addicted To Love</i>, in which Meg Ryan was no perky girl-next-door but a kohl-eyed hellion bent on revenge, with Matthew Broderick as her mostly willing accomplice. The situation was just begging to be rewritten with Harry and Draco in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Vengeance So Sweet; or When Harry Met Draco and Ended Their WarGames

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for ridiculously naïve!Harry (is that canon?), drag!Draco, musical!Krum, and disloyal!Ginny. Also irresponsible abuse of firewhisky, mild swearing, and liberties taken with the Malfoy family tree. And smut, of course!
> 
> With apologies and sincere homage to Robert Gordon, whose plot I've blatantly stolen, to Griffin Dunne, who brought it to the screen, and to J.K. Rowling, who I'm sure wants nothing to do with what I've done to her characters. Endless thanks to , my inspiration, cheering squad, and beta reader, who helped me through every word. All remaining mistakes are my own.

Harry Potter had the perfect life. He had a perfect little cottage where he lived with his perfect girlfriend. His two best friends in the whole wide world lived next door, and his girlfriend's parents, who were very fond of Harry, lived just a few steps beyond that. This was perfectly fine at the moment, but for some time Harry had been looking for the perfect time to propose. He looked forward to their perfect wedding and to raising a family. He thought three children would be the perfect number, and Ginny, of course agreed.

Yes, life was perfect. Until that day that a perfectly harmless owl arrived carrying a perfectly harmless looking letter, and Harry's perfect world was shattered.

"I don't believe it! The Ministry wants me to come to London to lead a Quidditch camp for kids."

Harry knew it was an extraordinary honour to be chosen. Ginny coached the local team and this was just the kind of job that she was perfect for. Still, he could think of only one thing to say. "They want you to go to London?"

"For two months! Isn't this incredible! This is what I've wanted to do for my entire life! I can't believe they picked me!"

Harry almost reminded her that she'd wanted to be with _him_ for her entire life, but he had learned a few things from Hermione over the years. Instead he said, "Of course they'd pick you, love. You're the best. Haven't I always said that?" She beamed at him, and he felt emboldened enough to say, "But London ..."

"I know!" she gushed, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "I've only really been there for school supplies and to get the train to Hogwarts. It'll be amazing to actually _live_ there." Something in Harry's face must've given away his trepidation, for she squeezed his hand. "Come with me, Harry! We'd have so much fun -- they've got museums, the theatre, fancy restaurants ..."

Harry considered it for all of a second, then shook his head. "You know I can't just take off like that. I have to work." Harry manufactured Spectrescopes, a handy device he'd invented that now no magical home could do without. With contracts through all the major wizarding outfitters he was kept perfectly busy. Of course, he was his own boss and could easily have taken a holiday. The truth was that he really didn't _want_ to go to London. He had everything he wanted right here.

Ginny lifted both his hands and kissed his knuckles. "I want this, but you know I love you. If you tell me not to go, I won't."

Harry knew what the perfect boyfriend was supposed to say. The perfect boyfriend would tell Ginny that he was proud of her and that he supported her and that she should go and have a brilliant time. But Harry realised that he wasn't the perfect boyfriend.

"Don't go."

*****

The little cottage in Ottery St. Catchpole was quiet without Ginny. Too quiet, especially after Ron and Hermione left to spend the summer in Australia with her parents. Not that Harry moped, not at all! This was the perfect time to take care of all the chores that needed doing. Cleaning gutters, mulching the garden, oiling squeaky door hinges -- true, magic made these tasks easier, but they still had to be done. Harry beavered away, all the while imagining how pleased Ginny would be when she got home.

That day was approaching fast now. Before she'd left Hermione had given him a Muggle calendar to count down the days. A row of six collie pups stared at him each night when he drew a big "X" across another lonely day.

Two weeks ... ten days ... five days ... two ...

The day before Ginny's return was very busy. Blooming flower boxes needed to be hung from every window, a welcome home dinner needed to be cooked, and an engagement ring needed to be selected. Yes, Harry had decided on the perfect moment to ask Ginny to be his wife. He would get down on his knee as soon as she stepped through the Floo, and when she saw the exquisitely cut emerald he was sure she would say yes.

Harry returned from Bath with said emerald, which the saleslady assured him was very rare and would certainly please the most discerning young lady, to find an officious-looking Ministry owl perched on his front gate. She cooed reproachfully at him, put out that he hadn't been there to receive her earlier, before handing over a rolled scroll covered in Ginny's familiar handwriting. Certain that it was just an update on her arrival time, Harry unfurled it eagerly.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _This is the most difficult thing I've ever done, to tell you I'm not coming home. I'm just now finding out what life is all about and I can't go back to how we were before. Believe me, I never planned for this to happen. You're my best friend but I'm not in love with you like I once was. You deserve better than this ..._

He didn't bother reading the rest of the letter. With only the clothes on his back and the velvet ringbox in his pocket, Harry Apparated to Diagon Alley.

*****

Harry had avoided Diagon for nearly a decade. London's magical quarter no longer held the appeal it had when he was a child, when there were amazements around every corner. Years of war had jaded him; the paparazzi hounding him afterwards had sent him into hiding. Now he was yesterday's news, and he was fine with that. But whilst trying to needle Ginny's whereabouts out of the young receptionist at the Department of Magical Games and Sport, he felt a fleeting regret that the name Harry Potter didn't hold the clout it once did.

Still, the receptionist told him that the Quidditch camp was at Kew Gardens, in a section of the sprawling park marked "closed for repairs" and charmed with any number of enchantments to thwart curious Muggles. Harry Apparated there immediately, eager to see Ginny's breathtaking smile and her familiar ponytail bouncing as she ran into his arms. He couldn't wait to see her eyes sparkle when she saw him. He'd tell her how much he'd missed her and she'd admit she missed him too. She'd say the letter was a mistake and ask if they could go home now. Harry would Apparate them directly to their cottage and welcome his girlfriend -- nay, his fiancé! -- back in the best way he knew how.

But this perfect reunion was not to be. Oh, Harry saw Ginny's breathtaking smile, all right, and her eyes sparkling with happiness. He even saw her ponytail bounce gleefully as she raced across the pitch. But it wasn't into his arms she ran, but into … Merlin's underpants, _was that Viktor Krum?_

The last Harry had heard of Krum was when the Bulgarian Seeker's retirement from Quidditch made international news. He'd decided to pursue his love of music instead -- apparently he was a quite notable performer in his home country. The British press was stunned, as were Ron, Ginny, and Harry. Only Hermione seemed unsurprised by his decision. She'd said little about it, though, at least around Ron; Viktor Krum was still a bit of a sore spot.

Harry could well understand why. He felt more than a little tetchy himself as he watched the man's bulging biceps wrap around the woman he loved. This was wrong, all wrong! Musicians weren't supposed to have bulging biceps! They weren't supposed to have broad barrel chests and a profile that Rodin could have chiselled from solid marble! Most of all, they weren't supposed to be touching Ginny, _his_ Ginny, in such a _familiar_ way.

 _"This is just a misunderstanding,"_ he assured himself. _"He probably just got here, he's just happy to see a friendly face."_ A _very_ friendly face it turned out to be, as they engaged in what was -- to Harry -- a gut-clenchingly passionate kiss. _"He's done it now,"_ Harry thought. _"Ginny hates public displays of affection. She doesn't even like kissing that much! She'll put him in his place … any minute now …"_ But a minute passed, and another, and still Ginny showed no signs of struggling. In fact, it was Viktor who pulled back from the kiss first. He didn't step away, however. In fact, he moved even closer, and with a crack loud as a gunshot Disapparated them both.

Harry stared shell-shocked at the place where they had been. Wild explanations darted through his mind: Polyjuice, Imperius, Love Potions … Something evil was to blame. This was not his Ginny.

His suspicions grew tenfold when he saw a sight that chilled him to the bone. A man was standing just opposite him, about the same distance from the now-departed couple as he had been, wearing what looked like -- Merlin, it couldn't be? -- black Death Eater robes! His face was obscured by a dark hood as well as a disillusionment charm. And as soon as he saw Harry had noticed him, he Disapparated away.

Now Harry had no doubt -- Ginny was in trouble. He had to save her!

*****

"But you don't understand. The camp's over now -- she won't be back there. You have to tell me where she's staying."

"I'm sorry, sir. I can't give out that information to the public." Ludo Bagman's receptionist looked barely twenty, too young to remember much of anything about the war. But she was standing up to Harry with such resolve that he almost wished they'd had her on their side back then. "I can have one of our owls deliver a message. That's the best I can do."

"That's not enough!" Harry bellowed, regretting his raised voice but not seeing any other option. "Miss Weasley is in danger!"

The door behind the receptionist suddenly swung open. "What in the name of Nodens is going on out …" Bagman had aged since Harry had last seen him, and he hadn't aged well. As wide as he was tall, his porcine physique was an argument for exercise if Harry had ever seen one. But his face, pudgy as it might be, lit up in recognition. "Why, Harry Potter? Is that you?"

"It is, Mr. Bagman."

"Ludo, please. I say, I almost didn't recognise you. Violetta, this is the famous Harry Potter." Bagman noticed Harry's anxiousness then, for he asked, "Is there something we can help you with?"

"It's actually rather urgent. I'm trying to find Ginny Weasley, she was coaching at the Quidditch summer camp …"

"Ah, yes. We were very fortunate to have Miss Weasley with us this year. Charming girl, really charming. Violetta, will you please give her contact information to Harry?"

"Right away, Mr. Bagman."

"Oh, no, that guesthouse won't be much use," Bagman said, looking over the girl's shoulder. "She'll be with Viktor Krum or I'll be the centrefold in next month's _Playwitch_." He gave Harry a conspiratorial wink, a quite disturbing sight not only for what it seemed to imply. "Seems our Miss Weasley has turned her charms on Krum, you know. If only she could entice him to return to Quidditch, eh? What do you think, Harry? Think England might make a comeback?"

"Um, yes, sir, probably, sir."

"Ah, but sadly, I think those two lovebirds have more on their mind than Quidditch. It's refreshing to see young people so enamoured with each other. Speaking of which, what about you, Harry? Have you found yourself a lucky lady yet?" He nodded toward his receptionist. "I don't think our lovely Violetta's spoken for ..."

Harry's stomach did that annoying twisting thing again, making it impossible to stammer out an answer. Fortunately at that moment, the blushing girl handed him a silver card embossed with the Department's logo and, under it, the address of a flat on the Isle of Dogs. "Thank you," Harry said to the girl, and then to Bagman.

"Anything I can do to help, Harry. Don't be a stranger."

Harry hurried from the office. He needed to find the visitor's exit, but to get there he had to make his way through the crush of Ministry employees in line for the Floos. After so long in Ottery St. Catchpole, with only occasional visits to Bath's sedate wizarding quarter, it was disconcerting to be in such a crowd. The magical energy would once have been exhilarating, but now it felt like a million strangers scratching in his head. He longed for Ginny's energy that was like a balm to his savaged nerves. Theirs had never been a passionate affair, and for that he was grateful. Harry had gotten his fill of passion during the war, thanks very much. Now a good day was when Molly made treacle tarts and a romantic evening was when Ginny read to him in bed.

 _"… enamoured with each other …"_

Bagman's words invaded Harry's thoughts, destroying any chance he had of calming himself. He must be wrong -- Ginny couldn't be enamoured with Krum! Even if by some unfathomable twist of fate she was attracted to him, she would never make her infatuation known. Ginny wasn't like that.

But that kiss …

"Are you all right, dear?"

A passing witch touched his arm; it was only then that Harry realised that he was sweating and breathing heavily.

"Yes, fine … just need to …"

But he wasn't fine. The voices around him were rising and he could almost make out their words. They were all talking about the two lovebirds. About Ginny's charms. About that kiss. He was going to drown in the voices if he didn't get away.

Luckily the kind witch's hand kept him steady. "You're going to the visitor's entrance, aren't you? It's this way."

Harry gratefully let her help him to the lift. Back on the Muggle side street he cast a quick glance around, but he hardly saw a thing. At the moment he wasn't terribly bothered about who might notice him Apparate away.

*****

Viktor Krum's flat, like most wizarding homes in London, was warded against Muggle eyes. To them, the buzzers were simply misnumbered; despite there being a button for the fourth floor, everyone knew there were only three stories in the old factory. But when Harry touched the tip of his wand to the buzzer, a heavily accented voice crackled over the intercom.

"Whoever you are, come back later. We are busy."

Harry thought he heard laughter over the static and grimly pushed the buzzer again.

"Did you not hear me? I am making love to my woman. Go away now."

Harry almost fell over. _"My woman." Ginny!_ He had to get up there -- had to stop this!

From the street, he looked up at the lights gleaming from the top floor's windows. Had he his broom and invisibility cloak, he could have flown up for a peek, but without them, his only choice was going in through the front door.

Or was it?

Across the street rose another factory, much like the one that Krum inhabited, but still in its ungentrified state. Broken windows gaped from the front, inviting Harry up for an unobstructed view. If not for fear of splinching himself on whatever lay inside, Harry would have Apparated up directly. Instead, he played it safe, Alohomora-ing his way through the steel door and ascending a curved staircase with not a few broken steps. Plastic bottles and empty tins betrayed a history of squatters, and a faint trace of magical energy tickled his consciousness as he got to the fourth floor, but at the moment the building only housed an abundance of rats and spiders.

The top floor was sectioned off into what once must have been offices. The largest one ran nearly the length of the building and was crowded with debris and old machines. From here Harry had a clear view of Krum's flat. Shapes moving there (and he was _not_ going to think about what they might be doing to move so), but they were too far away, too indistinct. He needed to see Ginny's face; that was the only way he could figure out what harm had come to her.

His fingers brushed against the box in his pocket. Of course! The engagement ring … with just a few modifications, he could turn it into a workable Spectrescope. The stone would make a perfect reflective surface, once he smoothed out its facets, and with the band elongated into a curved barrel he could make the scope …

Harry set to work. After fiddling with it for quite some time -- the materials were different than what he was used to -- he held an object that looked like a cross between an old-fashioned Muggle telescope and a French horn. It looked very much like his normal Spectrescopes, except instead of the copper he favoured, this one was made of pure white gold.

He sat the instrument on the floor and, with a tap of his wand, activated the device. Suddenly from the bell of the horn sprang a life-sized image of Ginny (and Viktor, unfortunately). There was only one problem: they were bright green.

It took Harry several attempts to transform the stone. By the time he'd figured out that the emerald wouldn't shift cleanly into rock quartz, but that he could transform it to peridot and then to citrine and finally to the clear crystal, Ginny and Viktor had finished what they had been doing ( _"Napping,"_ Harry's brain stubbornly insisted) and were attacking the kitchen like rabid hyenas. Harry transfigured a stack of telephone books into a comfortable chair (one that looked remarkably like his favourite chair at home), then settled in to watch.

"Hi, Gin," he said. It wasn't hard to pretend the woman was sitting beside him instead of a street away. She smiled back at him, a bold, happy smile. He thought how beautiful she looked with her hair loose like that, her gold-coloured wrap setting off the highlights in her auburn tresses. "You look good. The, um, the Quidditch camp suits you." She laughed back at him, surprised no doubt by his boldness. She reached out her hand and Harry leaned into her touch. He gasped in surprise when his fingers grasped nothing but empty air, when the spot where he should be was filled with another body …

A startling crack brought him flying to his feet. Harry whirled around, wand drawn, scanning the dark office doors for the intruder. From one stepped a shadow, the same hooded figure he'd seen at Kew Gardens.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

The figure didn't answer, but took another step closer. Harry forced his hand steady, though his palm gripping the wand was streaked with sweat. It had been ages since he'd encountered a Death Eater but the adrenaline rampaging his body made it feel like only yesterday.

"Answer me, dammit, or I swear I'll …"

A hand -- wandless, Harry noted -- swept up and pushed the hood back. The shock of white hair nearly blinded him as a snarl disparaged his threat. "Or you'll what, Potter?

"Malfoy? What the fuck are you doing here?"

The Slytherin didn't answer; he just stepped closer, noting the moving image of Ginny and Viktor with a sneer. "Voyeur much?"

Harry didn't answer, and he didn't drop his wand. It didn't deter Malfoy, who simply rolled his eyes. "Oh for the love of Myrddin, put that thing away before you injure yourself."

Harry shook his head. "Tell me what you're doing here. I saw you following me."

"Following you?" Draco snorted, a derisive sound that transported Harry back to their school days. "Hardly. Although it may be hard for this fact to penetrate the gravitational field of your massive ego, Potter, it's not all about you." He gestured toward the Spectrescope image, scowling as Ginny perched lovingly on Viktor's knee. "That slapper stole my fiancé and I'm out for revenge."

"Your fiancé? Viktor? But he's a … _he_." Oh. _Oh._ Harry shuddered violently as certain things he'd never wanted to know about Malfoy took up residence in his brain. He forced his thoughts back to the matter at hand. "You leave Ginny alone. It's not her fault, it's that caveman's -- he's bewitched her somehow." The other man was staring at his fingernails now, feigning boredom. It was such a Malfoy thing to do that Harry nearly hexed him just on principle. "Leave her alone," he repeated.

Malfoy yawned dramatically. "Right, well, this really has been lovely, Potter, but I think it's time to call it a night. Tomorrow will be busy, busy, busy. I'll be taking this room," he said, motioning towards the door he'd come out of. "I sleep naked _and_ armed, so if you so much as touch the door I'll shrink your willy to the size of a billywig." He cast his eye down Harry's body, a look so leering that Harry would have felt undressed had Draco not followed it up with, "Although that's probably an improvement where you're concerned. Good night, Potter."

And with that, he disappeared into the black. Harry stood there staring in disbelief, his wand still rigid in his hand. He was already unbelievably annoyed with the git, and he'd been here less than five minutes. It was almost enough to make him forget about the two bodies cuddling across the street.

*****

Harry awoke the next morning chilled to the bone, his neck stiff from sleeping in his chair. The Spectrescope image was the first thing that greeted him, and Ginny's quiet slumber almost made him forget his discomfort. "G'morning, Gin," he whispered, quiet so he wouldn't wake her.

Krum wasn't so considerate, though. Not five minutes had passed before he destroyed their private moment, barging in with a tray covered in food. "Oh, you stupid, stupid man," Harry muttered. If there was one thing Ginny hated, it was eating first thing in the morning. She liked to wake up slowly, maybe have some coffee, and only later start thinking about food. That smile she was wearing now, she was just being polite because Viktor had put in so much effort. Harry would gladly have put in that much effort to get her to smile at him like that.

Even more than eating in the morning, Ginny hated to be fed. Harry had tried it exactly once, holding out a grape for her to take from his fingers. Ginny had stared at him in disgust. "I've been feeding myself for years now, Harry." So he could feel the tension build as Viktor lifted a strawberry to her lips. "This is it," he said, leaning forward. "Don't let the door hit your arse on the way out."

But Ginny … she didn't push him back. She didn't look askance at the fruit. She didn't even frown. She … she licked her lips seductively, inviting Krum to bring the fruit to her mouth. He smeared the red fruit across her slick lips, a trail of glistening red juice darkening Ginny's lips as the tip nudged them apart.

It was simultaneously the most erotic and the most disturbing thing that Harry had ever witnessed.

He sprang from his chair, spewing curse words and kicking aged office equipment. A sharp pain lanced his foot, he wondered if he might even have broken a toe, but he didn't care. It didn't hurt half as much as what he'd just seen. It didn't hurt half as much as Ginny must be hurting. Harry had been subject to the Imperius Curse. He knew how horrible it was, that compulsion to do things you hated. That must be what Ginny was going through. The evidence was right in front of his eyes. The public displays of affection, eating breakfast, _being fed_! This wasn't the woman he'd grown up with, the woman he wanted to take as his wife. There was something sinister at work here and Harry just had to figure out what it was.

Needing to catalogue evidence, he limped back to his chair and forced himself to watch the rest of their breakfast in bed. Fortunately nothing more intimate followed -- Viktor looked like he was giving it a good go, but Ginny held him at bay. "That's it, Gin," praised Harry. "You can resist, I know you can." Eventually they got out of bed and dressed, Krum in formal afternoon wear and Ginny in the silvery-blue sundress that Harry had always liked. They kissed long and lovingly (Harry all the while urging Ginny to be strong) before Apparating out of sight.

With its target gone, the Spectrescope image flickered off, leaving the room feeling empty. Harry indulged a single sigh before plotting his next step: to uncover what Krum wanted. What could have driven him to cast an Unforgivable on an innocent girl? Harry was tempted to enlist Hermione's help, he could easily firecall her in Melbourne, but he didn't think he could stand her pity. The Diagon Library was the next best thing.

 _"No,"_ protested his stomach with a growl, _"food is the best thing."_ He'd not eaten since arriving in London the day before. No wonder he was feeling cranky.

Not to mention that Draco Fucking Malfoy was sleeping just behind that door.

For a short while, Harry had managed to forget the Slytherin. Now as he glared at the door where Malfoy had disappeared last night, Harry was surprised that his outburst hadn't woken the man. He'd either cast a Silencing Spell or was an exceptionally hard sleeper. Neither would have surprised Harry in the least. Pampered prat probably never rose before noon.

What was he doing here anyway? It was far too convenient to be a coincidence, and if there was anybody who Harry would suspect of foul play, it was Malfoy. It'd been sheer luck that kept him from following his father to Azkaban -- that, and Harry's testimony concerning Dumbledore's death. That was the last they'd seen of each other, and Harry had wished to keep it that way. If Malfoy was behind this attack on Ginny, so help him …

His stomach rumbled again, demanding that it, not Malfoy, be the centre of attention. Harry briefly considered re-transfiguring the Spectrescope so he could take it with him, but changed his mind when he remembered all his tiny adjustments to get it working properly. He warded it instead, blocking anyone but himself from being able to use it. That gave him a small sense of satisfaction on this otherwise very annoying day, a little something to relish as he Apparated to Diagon.

A few hours later, he'd turned up quite a lot on Viktor Krum. For years he'd been the star of the Sofia Symphonic Orkester and made a name for himself quite independent of Quidditch. He'd arrived in Britain for a month of performances at the behest of the Royal Wizardry Orchestra. That was almost three years ago, and he hadn't left since.

For a time, there was a bit of scandal associated with Krum's name. To Harry's surprise, Malfoy wasn't involved -- not directly. Amidst rising fears of terrorism, the Muggle Prime Minister had been pressuring the Minister for Magic to repatriate witches and wizards from non-EU countries. It was one of those political kerfluffles that most of the magical community ignored, but Krum's high profile made him a target. For months there was talk of deportation, which Krum protested vigorously. And then, as suddenly as the news started, it disappeared.

That was around the same time that Krum had had the misfortune to run into one of the RWO's benefactors: Draco Malfoy. Early photographs showed the two of them shaking hands. Later photographs were more intimate, even lewd: Malfoy and Krum lip-locked at a benefit dinner, bodies griding together at a charity dance, hands groping behinds on countless red carpets. Before long, _The Daily Prophet_ was announcing the Krum-Malfoy engagement -- and there was no more mention of deportation. Harry wondered how many palms were greased with Galleons to make the problem disappear.

Still, there was nothing dark, nothing evil about Krum, not that Harry could see. Of course, it could well be Malfoy's doing. But casting an Imperius on Ginny to get her to steal away Viktor -- "not that Ginny had done that," Harry reminded himself -- didn't make a lot of sense, even for someone like Malfoy.

Harry was still puzzling this out hours later when he returned, arms full of groceries and head full of questions, to the flat. He drew his wand as he climbed the stairs, but he needn't have bothered. Malfoy was paying no attention. At the bend of the stairs from the floor below, Harry looked up and caught an unexpected glimpse of his profile. He was very surprised to see the blond's face lined with concentration, his shoulders hunched over. His face was oddly bare, wearing a fragile expression that Harry had never before seen him wear. Keeping his wand steady -- for anything that could touch Malfoy so was sure to be dangerous -- Harry climbed another floor.

And then he was furious.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Malfoy's entire body jerked once as if he'd been shocked, then quickly recovered. He sneered as if Harry was no more than a tuft of lint on his robes. "What does it look like I'm doing? I thought your little toy could be put to better use than watching Girl Weasley."

"But ... it was warded ..." He'd spelled the Spectrescope to react to no magic but his own. Draco, however, simply scoffed.

"You didn't think a Padlock Charm would keep me out, did you?" Reading the answer on Harry's face, Malfoy's eyes widened with a malicious glint. "Oh, sweet Nimue, you did! Who've you been warding against all these years, garden gnomes?"

"No," Harry replied coldly, "just people who respect other people's property."

"That's rich, Potter, seeing as your girlfriend there certainly has no respect for _my_ property -- namely my boyfriend."

Harry huffed a little breath through his nose. "Krum is your property now, is he?" He glanced at the Spectrescope image where the former Seeker was sliding his arms around Ginny. At first glad that their actions proved his point, his smugness quickly evaporated and left him feeling thoroughly miserable.

He glanced over at Malfoy, who was glaring at the image. Harry recalled what he said about revenge. "Don't you dare even think of harming Ginny, Malfoy," he warned again.

The Slytherin shot him a withering look. "Would I stoop so low, Potter? Believe me, my sights are set much higher than your ginger beauty there."

A retort raced to the tip of his tongue, but Harry froze when he realised that he was about to insist that Ginny was indeed worth Malfoy's ire. Merlin but he hated the turned-around feeling he always got around the man. It was exactly like being back in school, when a single word from his nemesis felt like the twist of a knife. A decade wasn't enough to wipe that away.

But Malfoy didn't seem bothered. He was studying the Spectrescope with interest. "So what is this thing anyway? It's quite the flash toy."

"It's a Spectrescope." He watched to see if Draco registered his invention; when he didn't, Harry added, "It helps you find whatever it is you're looking for. It can be tuned to people if they're in the immediate area, but it's mostly for household chores, really. Like if you've lost a sock."

Somehow Malfoy managed to lift his eyebrow while squinting at Harry. It made him look constipated. "Our house-elves would flay themselves if they lost a sock."

"Well, it's not for you, then, is it?" Harry answered uncharitably. He still wasn't happy that Malfoy had managed to get it working. It wasn't difficult -- one of its selling points was that it could be used by anybody in a wizarding family -- but that didn't mean that this one, made from the ring he'd imagined on Ginny's finger, should be defiled by Malfoy. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"I told you already. Revenge. Something your holier-than-thou attitude probably cannot fathom."

"Whatever." Harry rolled his eyes in frustration. "Why do you have to do it _here_? There's a whole wide world out there just waiting for your schemes. Why don't you take your revenge out there?"

"Because," Draco said, smiling in a way that made Harry shiver, "this is the best place to hear what's going on."

He waved his wand and suddenly voices were added to the Spectrescope image. Ginny's blush made sense now, for Harry could clearly hear Krum saying he wanted to make love to her until she screamed. Harry stared in horror; Vox spells were highly illegal, and even overhearing them would make him an accomplice in the Wizengamot's eyes. He waved his own wand and silenced the voices.

"You're spying on them?"

Malfoy looked incredulous, and then burst out laughing. "Pot-kettle away, Potter. Of course, if it's our Hero doing it, it's fine, right? Hesperus, you are such a hypocrite!"

"I'm not spying, Malfoy. I'm just ... watching." The excuse sounded lame to his own ears. In Malfoy's, he knew it would be ludicrous. "I just want to be with her," he tried to explain.

"Oh, well then, that's completely different," Malfoy assured him. His sarcastic tone grated Harry's nerves worse than the harsh scratch of Dolores Umbridge's quill.

"Listen, Malfoy, I know what you're going through. I know you want him back so badly that your guts are twisted. But it doesn't justify invading their priva- ... What?"

Malfoy was laughing as uproariously as if Harry had suddenly donned a chicken suit and was pecking through the office. "Oh, Potter," he gasped out, "that's funny. You're doing this because you think you can win her back ... from Viktor ..." He dissolved into hysterics again.

"Ginny and I are in love."

That sent Malfoy into another uncontrollable round of giggles. "Yeah, yeah, I can see that. Other than her banging my boyfriend, you two are the perfect couple."

"This ... this is just temporary. We're soul mates!" Harry insisted.

Malfoy wheezed so hard Harry was sure he would hyperventilate; Harry resolved to do nothing to save him. At last Malfoy recovered enough to say, "That is without a doubt the most pathetic thing I've ever heard. And since I lived with Pansy, that's saying a lot."

"Well, what's your evil plan then? How are you going to get Krum back?"

Shaking his head as if Harry was an idiot child, Malfoy said, "Oh, Potter, you don't get it, do you? I don't want him back. I want to destroy him."

Harry sneered at his unwelcome houseguest. "And you call me pathetic?"

Malfoy gave him a measured look. "That's the least of what I call you, Potter. But I'm saying this for your own good. The only way Girl Weasley is coming back to you is if he fucks her across her cute little Nimbus and it flies out of control. Otherwise, you're S.O.L."

The image of Ginny bent over her broom for Krum made Harry's blood boil. He had two choices: a quick Unforgivable on Malfoy or getting the hell out of there. He took a second to seriously consider where he might hide the body before Apparating back to Diagon.

*****

Harry stumbled back after consuming far too much alcohol. The flat was quiet and the Spectrescope was off; for a moment he thought Malfoy had gone. But then he saw him sitting in the dark, lit by the reflection of dusky streetlamps. The man had transfigured his own seat; nothing like Harry's tattered easy chair (which had been shoved into the corner to make room), this was a wide two-seater of mottled dragon hide, tanned until it was soft as butter. Malfoy looked unusually small with his knees drawn up against his chest, his arms hugged around his legs. His eyes were closed and his pointed chin fit perfectly in the "V" between his knees. He looked every bit as miserable as Harry had felt watching the image of Viktor and Ginny.

For just an instant Harry almost felt sorry for him. Then he realised that Malfoy must be listening to their conversation. He would have been outraged, but it seemed too much bother. Instead he settled into his own chair and sipped the firewhisky he'd brought back for the long night ahead.

Malfoy opened a drowsy eye and without a second thought Harry held the bottle out to him. The man hesitated for just an instant, probably weighing up the likelihood of being poisoned, before taking a deep swallow.

"Are you listening?" Draco nodded. Against his mind's silent protests, Harry said, "I want to hear."

"You shouldn't, Potter. It's wrong," replied Malfoy with infuriating condescension.

"C'mon, Malfoy, I need to hear them."

"Beg me."

Harry's hatred for the man grew exponentially, tempered only by his need to hear what was happening across the way. From the look on the Slytherin's face, Harry didn't think he could bear to actually see it. He gritted his teeth and said in as flat a tone as he could muster, "Please, Malfoy, I'm begging you."

Malfoy's nostrils flared as he waved his wand. Immediately the sound of exuberant lovemaking filled the air.

"He's killing her!" Harry cried out when Ginny screamed.

"Yeah," Malfoy agreed, more resigned than horrified. "And she's loving every minute of it."

"That's not her!" insisted Harry. "Ginny never makes that kind of noise. She says it's undignified."

Harry froze, horrified by what he'd just revealed. To his surprise, the other man seemed not to care. "You know what they say about converts. They've been going at it like Knockturn whores for the past hour."

 _The past hour?_ Feeling faint, Harry reached for the bottle of whisky. "That's enough. Shut it off."

To his surprise, Malfoy did. But as silence echoed through the building, Harry was sure he could still hear those horrific sounds. "You're such a masochist," he accused, as much to fill the vacuum as anything else.

Malfoy snorted. "You're the one begged to hear."

Harry had no answer to that, so instead he said, "You can't go through with this." In the pub he'd thought up all kinds of arguments against Malfoy's revenge. He mightn't remember any of them now, but he still knew it was a bad idea. "We both need to just go home. If they don't come back to us, then I guess they were never ours to begin with."

Malfoy stared as if Harry had been drinking undiluted bubotuber pus. "You really were raised by Muggles, weren't you, Potter? Have you never heard of magic? It's this funny little thing that lets you do things -- in this case, destroy that ball-bag Krum."

"You can't kill him!" Harry blurted out. "I mean, I know we're not friends or anything, but I still don't want to see you in Azkaban. Krum's not worth it."

Malfoy's expression was utterly unreadable as he studied Harry. When he finally spoke, Harry braced for a snarky comment. Instead, the Slytherin said, "I won't kill him. I want his dignity, and I wish him ill, but I want him to live out his long, lonely existence knowing that he made a terrible mistake. And the Girl Weasley ... well, don't you want to be there when she falls?"

Harry took a deep breath as he weighed his two possible futures. Should he return home and wait for Ginny to come to her senses or follow Malfoy down this warped path? "I don't know ..."

Sensing Harry's hesitation, Draco cast another Vox spell. The air suddenly burst into the sounds of sex. "He's rich and powerful and he's hung like a Centaur," yelled Malfoy above the din. "How can you compete with that?"

Harry waved his wand but the sound didn't diminish. Damn Malfoy and his illegal spell. "Shut it off," he growled.

But Malfoy just laughed. If anything, the volume increased, although it could have just been the throes of passion. "C'mon, Potter. Don't you want to even the odds?"

His fury split evenly between Malfoy and Krum, Harry grabbed his booze and stormed into one of the empty offices. He slammed the door and cast the strongest silencing spell he knew, and then reinforced the ward to keep Malfoy out. Even so, he could still hear muffled cries breaking through.

Harry knew he would rather do anything but help the Slytherin with his evil plot. He should go home and wait until Ginny decided she'd had enough of this fling. It was sure to happen soon. There was no way his Ginny could be satisfied with this kind of life.

But then her feral climax leaked through his wards, and he knew his mind was already made up.

*****

A thin trickle of amber covered the bottom of the bottle, not enough to wet a goldfish's lips. The rest of the whisky lay in the stomach of one Harry Potter. It wasn't the first morning he'd woken like this, and he was afraid it wouldn't be his last. Before he'd ended up sharing an abandoned office building with the insufferable Malfoy heir, Harry's previous bouts of binge drinking could be counted on a single hand. Now he spent most evenings with Ogden's and Jack Daniel's.

When he finally awoke, his head splitting and his tongue furred, it was already well past noon. Malfoy was gone, thank Merlin, but his puce loveseat sprawled across the front office. As had become his habit, Harry's wand shoved it to the other side and brought his ragged lounger to the centre before he started up the Spectrescope. Viktor Krum appeared, wearing an old-fashioned wizard's undershirt and his bare knees straddled a cello. Hands that had once captured the world's most evasive snitches now graced its wooden bones. Krum had always transcended skill on the Quidditch pitch; now Harry recognised the same artistry with both feet planted firmly on the ground. With violent slices of his bow he evoked a passion like Harry had never seen. For a moment he forgot why he watched, simply appreciating the performance. Only after he found himself wishing for the sounds did his memory came flooding back.

With it came a curious realisation: Ginny wasn't in the scene, only Krum. This wasn't how the Spectrescope was supposed to work -- it should only have reacted to his wishes, his desires of what to see. And Krum was definitely not his desire. For some reason, after a week of sharing the images, the device had started blending Malfoy's magic with his.

This thought pummelled Harry's head, driving him to shut off the image. He stumbled to the corner where he'd dumped his last grocery run. Instead of the bags he'd left them in, the tins had been neatly organised, and the cheap tea he'd bought transformed into gourmet Assam. Shaking his head at the peculiarities of his new flatmate, Harry fixed himself a mug … and admitted that Malfoy might have a point.

Glancing over, he noticed that the door to Malfoy's room was ajar. Harry remembered the Slytherin's threat from the first night, but his curiosity was too great; he poked his head through the crack. Unlike his own room, which looked like its occupant might be camping out, this was like a luxury hotel. A huge canopied bed filled most of this one-time office, with a plush Persian rug covering the splintered wood floor. An antique writing desk was squeezed into one corner, an ample wardrobe into another.

On the bed was a small stack of boxes with Twilfit and Tatting's gold embossing. To his shock, several more boxes suddenly appeared before Harry's eyes. Malfoy was shopping! Harry opened the top box to find a lavish robe in deepest indigo. Buttons of lapis lazuli set off the dark cloth, the thick streaks of gold bringing the blue stone to life. It was one of the finest robes that Harry had ever seen, and he couldn't resist touching it. When his fingers brushed the almost-black velvet trim, he noticed a piece of paper tucked inside. An invoice signed by Mr. Twilfit himself, noting that two hundred Galleons had been deducted from Mr. Viktor Krum's account for this purchase. Harry winced to think how much this ever-growing pile of robes was going to cost.

Boxes were still piling up when a stack of books sprouted beside the desk. Like a weed out of control it stretched from the floor to above Harry's waist; a second stack appeared when the first was in danger of toppling. Apparently the Slytherin was clearing the shelves at Flourish & Botts. Harry noted that a frightening number of the books dealt with curses; his conscience pinged as he wondered what Malfoy intended to do besides clean out Krum's savings. Bags from Madam Primpernelle's were next, including an expensive hair restorative that proclaimed itself the most potent on the market, followed by a top-of-the-line pewter cauldron and a plethora of potions supplies.

Harry watched fascinated as the room filled with purchases. Extravagances that he could not have indulged in in an entire lifetime were a single day's shopping for Malfoy. And at the rate they were accumulating, there was no way the man had spent more than a few seconds selecting them. Whether it reflected carelessness or practiced expertise, Harry wasn't sure, but he couldn't deny his macabre curiosity.

The writing desk soon overflowed with supplies from Scribbulus, from exquisite peacock quills and fine handcrafted parchments to the rarest blood-tinted inks. One piece of writing paper slipped from the pile, and a self-inking quill began to write:

  
_Get out of my room, Potter!  
And go to yours, there's something for you there. -- D.M._   


Embarrassed at being caught out (and how had Malfoy known anyway?), Harry retreated to his own room. There was no desk here, nothing in the room other than the small camp bed, but on the floor were two items that hadn't been there earlier. One was a large stoppered vial from Slug & Jiggers, the apothecary's own trademark hangover potion. Eyes widening, Harry popped off the lid and swallowed down the steaming concoction. Immediately the teeth gnawing the front of his brain disappeared, leaving him feeling not only relief, but better than he had in a long time.

Harry turned to the second package. Wrapped in gold paper with a crimson ribbon, it was only a little larger than a magazine, but it was solid and quite heavy. His heart sped up when he saw the stamp of Quality Quidditch Supplies. Without hesitation, he tore through the wrapping to find a framed painting of a Quidditch pitch on which was one lone Seeker, dressed in Gryffindor colours, and a sparkling Snitch that blazed like a jewel. Like a magical portrait, the figure was moving, but in this scene the background changed as the Snitch avoided the Seeker's hands.

Drawn to the Snitch as irresistibly as if he was in the painting, Harry's finger traced the golden light. It darted away, nearly colliding with the Seeker, who lunged fruitlessly toward it. Escaping, it flew higher still, into the clouds, the Seeker following in its wake. Through layers of white they rose together until the green fields of the pitch disappeared. Harry felt their thrill as they burst above the clouds. He'd rarely flown this high; the few times he had, he'd been too focused on the elusive Snitch to enjoy it. Now, as the Golden Snitch bounced on the tufts of white cotton wool with the fearless Seeker skimming through the mist, Harry took in the beauty of his surroundings.

Trying again to touch the Snitch sent it even higher, so high that a passing aeroplane almost careened into it. The Seeker swerved and met the Snitch on the other side, making another desperate reach for it. Harry's touch foiled it; the gleaming jewel shot straight up this time with the plucky Seeker right behind. Harry gasped at the view from this height. Aeroplanes flew beneath him like koi in a shallow pool, and a dense blanket of clouds hugged the planet -- yes, it was the planet, Harry realised, for from here he could just begin to see the slightest curve at the edges.

It was then that the vertigo hit. Although the Seeker was still swooping merrily after the Snitch, Harry had to look away until his stomach calmed. The figures in the painting must have sensed the change, for when he looked back up they were descending. He let them go, watching as they wove their way through the field of planes, through the pillowy clouds, back towards the welcoming pitch that rushed up to greet them. The Snitch seemed to hang in the air for just a moment, uncertain which way to go, and it was just long enough for the Gryffindor Seeker to pluck it from the sky. Grinning wide, Harry could almost hear the stands erupt into cheers.

But louder than that was the pop of an Apparition into the building. Harry ran out to meet him. "Malfoy!" he exclaimed, full of surprising good feeling for the man.

This momentary fondness was crushed when Malfoy retorted, "Not now, Potter. I'm busy." He stormed into his room and slammed the door, only to peek his head out a moment later. "And you're not to get soused tonight, Potter. We've got a mission."

Stunned, Harry just nodded. And though he couldn't explain why, the thought of accompanying Malfoy on a mission gave him nearly the same sense of vertigo that he'd felt watching the Seeker fly fifty thousand feet above the earth. This time, he resolved not to tear his eyes away.

*****

Malfoy emerged just after eight, joining Harry who was sitting miserably before the empty image of Krum's flat. "Have they left yet?"

"Yeah, with their bags," Harry answered miserably. "Do you know where they're going?"

"Paris. Viktor thinks it's the most romantic place on earth." Malfoy's scornful tone warned Harry against asking if Krum had ever taken him there. "Are you ready?"

"I suppose. You haven't said what we're doing." Harry studied Malfoy's all black attire; the high turtleneck and tight trousers giving him a lean stovepipe look that was surprisingly striking. "I didn't know you'd seen _Mission Impossible_."

Malfoy looked confused for half a second, then covered it with a scowl. "I assure you, Potter, this mission is entirely possible. I'm sure Viktor hasn't thought to change his wards."

"You're going to break in?"

"Of course."

Harry was about to protest, but then he thought of Krum holding Ginny's hand as they strolled alon the Champs d'Elysée stilled his tongue. "So what's the plan?"

Malfoy smirked, obviously pleased that Harry wasn't putting up a fight. "You'll see once we get there." He held out his arm, rolling his eyes when Harry hesitated. "Obviously we'll have to Side-Along. You can't expect him to have opened his wards to his lover's ex."

Unfortunately, the git was right. Harry was just glad he only had to touch Malfoy for a few short seconds. Krum's flat was bigger than he'd expected, and Harry started to explore, pleased that it didn't seem to reflect Ginny's tastes. _"Not like I know her tastes anymore,"_ he admitted ruefully.

Meanwhile, Malfoy was uncorking two bottles of wine; Harry rightly suspected that they were the most expensive in Krum's collection. Without even bothering with glasses Draco handed a bottle to Harry.

"So what are we doing here?"

"Ruining that bastard's life" came the cheery reply, Malfoy's bottle clinking against his. "Cheers!"

Both men drank deeply and then Malfoy began emptying his pockets and enlarging the contents. Harry watched eagerly, holding up the tub of hair restorer from Madam Primpernelle's. "What's this for?"

"Male pattern baldness," said Malfoy gleefully. "Viktor's deepest fear, and for good reason. I've seen his uncles -- it's not pretty. So he uses this stuff religiously."

"Did you put something in it?"

Draco groaned. "Of course I put something in it. What do you think we're doing here, getting decorating tips?" He waved his wand toward a stack of parchment. "Give me a hand with these, will you, Potter?"

Harry caught a glimpse of the top one. "'My darling Viktor,'" he read aloud, "'the robes are just divine, I'll be wearing them (and nothing under) when we next meet, love from your adoring Clarissa' … what the hell is this?"

"Just a little salt to rub in the wound," Malfoy replied cheerily. "There are receipts too. Hide them around the flat -- inside books or in his briefcase, anywhere he might keep something he doesn't want his girlfriend to see."

Harry thumbed through the parchments. Most referred to clandestine meetings, some were perfumed -- he recognised the fragrances from Madam Primpernelle's packages -- and all were signed with different names and ever more revealing endearments.. Malfoy was already busy shoving some into the corners of the bookcase, his chin set in a determined line, and a certain look in his eye …

It struck Harry then that, whatever the man might say, this desire for vengeance wasn't just about Malfoy's ego. He'd been genuinely hurt by Krum's betrayal. Now he was dealing with it in the only way he knew how. Talk about an impossible mission: there was no way Harry could squeeze such complexities into the shallow box he'd created for the Slytherin all those years ago. Ron would certainly disown him for even considering that Draco Malfoy might have a heart. Still, the long, measured drink he took as he tucked a perfumed note into a book of Bulgarian sonnets suggested that there was something beating in there, even if it was broken.

Still reeling from this revelation, Harry stumbled into Viktor's bedroom. He'd seen it on the Spectrescope, of course, but here, amidst the ripe scent of lovemaking (and the sounds he swore still echoed in his head), the pain was that much more acute. Still, Harry's denial ran deep -- it always had where women were concerned -- and he desperately wanted to believe that Ginny was under a spell. Three Revelaspells (and two-thirds of the wine bottle) later, he was still unconvinced that she wasn't, despite finding no evidence of errant magic.

While hiding parchments in Krum's wardrobe, Harry came across the tuxedo that he wore for performances. Ginny had always liked a man in tails, this Harry knew; after the War he'd frequently been expected to don his penguin dress and smile uncomfortably as people expressed their gratitude. Those events were high on the list of things that drove Harry to his haven in Ottery St. Catchpole, but Ginny had always enjoyed them. What if she missed them more than she had?

Yanking his jumper off, Harry pulled on the pleated tuxedo shirt, the jacket over the top. He could wear this costume, if that's what it took to please Ginny. Sure the buttons on the neck always choked him and he felt like an idiot with tails dragging the backs of his knees and he never could get that bowtie right -- still couldn't, he thought as his inebriated fingers fumbled with the ribbon -- but surely a little discomfort was a small price to pay. If it would please Ginny …

"Ginny?"

In the mirror's reflection she shimmered, a mirage for his parched throat. She wore that pale blue sundress he loved. Her hair fell loose, skimming the freckles on her shoulders that Harry had kissed so many times. Her smile … granted, its playful curve was one that Harry had seen flashed more frequently in Krum's company than he could remember personally, but nonetheless, it was his Ginny. Definitely his Ginny.

Until it wasn't.

"Here, let me …"

And suddenly it was Malfoy wearing Ginny's silk dress, Malfoy's long thin fingers deftly tying knot around Harry's neck, Malfoy's palms smoothing the creases from Harry's lapels. But when Harry closed his eyes and crushed the soft fabric between his fingers, releasing the scent of Ginny's body and a quiet gasp that could well have been her voice, it was easy to believe it was her in his arms. The soft lips that pressed against his could have been hers as well, if he forgot that Ginny had never been this tall, had never pushed her tongue so insistently into his mouth. It tasted good, though, that kiss, rich with the taste of wine and want, and Harry did not resist as his body was manoeuvred towards the bed.

The bed. Soft cotton sheets with an infinity of thread-counts, all laden with the inimitable smell of Ginny; with the flowery scent of her shampoo, tickling his nose even as hot breath ghosted across his ear and made him shiver; with the heavy body lying over him, pressing him into the mattress, consuming him in a cocoon of sensuality. Harry's hands grasped her silky sundress, savouring how the slick fabric slid over the skin underneath. He pulled that body closer, desperate for its warmth and its sheer presence, ignoring all physical evidence that this could not be his Ginny. Eyes squeezed tightly closed, he nuzzled the strap of her sundress, kissing the skin underneath, dragging the smooth edge of his teeth over the rosy flesh he remembered punctuated with freckles.

So busy picturing how Ginny might have looked through his ministrations, Harry was surprised to discover that the throaty background moans perfectly matched the motions of his hips. He thrust up as his hands pulled the curved bottom closer, the sheer fabric less a barrier than an invitation to ravage the skin underneath. Another groan, ripe with desire, and his mouth was attacked once more with deep kisses. "Ginny," he whispered against those wine-seasoned lips, uncertain whether he spoke to her or simply entreated Malfoy not to break this spell that they were surely under.

"Shhhh…" The long hiss interrupted the kisses. For an instant Harry feared he had indeed broken the spell, but his worries fled as skilled fingers worked the zipper of his trousers. In no time at all he was naked from the waist down and a wide palm was wrapped around his hardening width. Harry surrendered to the sensations prickling through him. A moist hand's firm strokes kept him from considering what might happen next; a curious tongue exploring his foreskin kept him from questioning how this could feel both utterly new and comfortably familiar at the same time. Harry sank his fingers into the silky hair, shorter than Ginny's but so close in weight he could pretend it gleamed red.

As that talented tongue launched into things Harry had never imagined a tongue could do, however, it was clear that his girlfriend was far away. Ginny's blow jobs were like furtive forays through a dodgy neighbourhood, necessary inconveniences on the way to somewhere else. This, though, this was akin to a stretch at a four-star resort, where his cock was a destination in itself. Devout attention was paid to every proffered amenity, from the slit weeping thick salty tears to the thick base that had never felt lips stretch full around them. Harry nearly wept himself when his shaft was fully enveloped, the heat and pressure and pure indescribable joy of it sending shock waves of bliss down his thighs. Tempted to lunge deeper into that ecstasy, he was held in place by a warning grip on his balls, sharp nails pinching his sensitive skin when he tried to move. The pain yanked him back from the brink of climax, its unexpected bite reminding him that his gentle attempts to push Ginny towards what he especially enjoyed weren't only unwelcome but unnecessary. This mouth knew exactly what he would enjoy; it also knew how to tease, slowing down when Harry wanted it to move faster, then sucking harder than Harry thought he could bear until his starving lungs gasped for air.

And then there were the fingers …

Ginny's fingers encircled Harry's erection from the beginning of a blow job to the very end, her fist ensuring that she didn't suck him too far into her mouth. Since that wasn't an issue here, two hands were freed for other endeavours. One attached itself to his balls, fondling the sack like a purse of priceless coins. The other explored lower, between Harry's sweaty legs, down into completely new -- completely virgin -- territory. "What are you …" he started to ask, his voice filled with fear despite himself, but his breath was stolen away again by that almost-but-not-quite-painful suction. When it relented his hips relaxed, and the finger that massaged his entrance slid into his damp hole easily as a cup fits a saucer. It didn't go far, just enough that Harry could feel its presence -- just enough that he found himself soon bearing down on it, wanting to feel more. Another one slipped in -- Merlin but this was dirty -- and it was impossible to imagine this was Ginny's finger, but Harry didn't care anymore. He just wanted more, more of that deliciously talented mouth that took him so deep, more of that burning stretch that made him feel so full, more of those undulations against his balls that pushed him closer and closer to the edge …

"Oh fuck Merlin gonna come …" Harry braced for the mouth to pull away, for a hand to grip his cock and pump his seed into the cold air. When that didn't happen, he tried to squirm away, only to find himself pinned between probing fingers and sinful lips. His half-hearted struggle ratcheted up his pleasure and when next that wet tongue slid down his flesh he exploded like the fireworks on Bonfire Night. It was an entirely different feeling, climaxing into the heart of that warm cavern, and the thought that his seed was being swallowed down made Harry feel like he could come for days. At last, though, his shudders stilled and Malfoy withdrew, leaving him feeling both boneless and bereft.

Not to mention apprehensive. Harry tensed as the long body stretched on top of him again.

"I can't …"

"Shhhh…"

It was the same thing Malfoy had said before, and Harry relaxed, knowing that he'd done well to trust him then. He couldn't argue in any case, for his mouth was plundered, the tongue salty with semen winding with his own, diving into every unexplored contour of his mouth. Hips ground into his at the same time; now the silk skirt felt almost oppressive against his hypersensitive skin, but Malfoy was rutting against him like an animal in heat, and Harry had no intention of stopping him. Couldn't stop him in any case, for he was still incapacitated from the best blow job of his life.

But he did open his eyes to see the other man's face, pale and unfreckled, streaked with sweat that Harry craved to lick. His eyes were screwed tightly closed; Harry wondered if he was thinking of Krum at that moment, and buried an annoying pang of jealousy. "Draco," he whispered, calling him back.

At the whispered sound, Malfoy froze and then quaked frantically. Fluid ran down the crease of Harry's hip; a word -- his name -- ghosted over his ear. And then it was over. The man unceremoniously rolled over and dragged the duvet over the ruined dress.

Harry rolled in the other direction, too sated for panic but too confused to know what to say. _"A moment of weakness,"_ he told himself, _"that's all it was. A moment meaning nothing."_

With his face buried in the pillow pungent with Ginny's scent he murmured good night to his girlfriend. He was already drifting off when he heard what he could nearly believe was her reply.

*****

Harry awoke feeling like a Bludger was battering the inside of his skull. This time, though, there was the added pain of a fully dressed Malfoy glaring down at his naked body. That mouth that had done such miraculous things to him last night was now curled into a scowl.

"Get up. They'll be back soon."

"We need to talk," Harry croaked, although he wasn't quite sure what he could say.

"No, we definitely _don't._ "

"Malf-- Draco, I know what you're going through --"

The Slytherin rounded on him, wand drawn and a curse already forming on his lips. "Don't presume to know anything about me, Potter. If I was the slightest bit like you, I'd cruciate myself until it passed."

He stormed off without another word. Groaning, Harry slid out of the warm bed and away from the peaceful feeling that had sheltered him all night. In the harsh daylight the stains they'd left on the sheets were all too visible. Harry wondered if the stains left on his body were just as obvious. It wasn't hard to Scourgify the place and get Krum's tuxedo looking good as new, but he was almost sorry when it was done. Still, he had to leave before he came across Ginny's dress again and remembered the best blow job of his entire life that would never, could never, happen again.

Malfoy was in the washroom fiddling with the shelf of potions and creams when Harry finally ventured out. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder at Harry. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Harry was surprised; the last thing he'd expected was an apology. "It's okay. Last night … it wasn't us."

Draco's entire body froze. Harry remembered how it had felt against him just seconds before climax, when he'd known full well that Ginny was nowhere around, and he knew that what he'd just said was a lie. But before he could explain, Malfoy came back to life. "No, it wasn't," he agreed, his voice cold and businesslike. "I'm glad you understand that. I presume you can find your own way back?" Without waiting for an answer he Apparated away.

Yes, Draco Malfoy was every bit as exasperating as he had been in school.

Harry took one last walk through the flat to make sure there was no evidence of their visit (none that they didn't intend, that is) and tucked one last parchment into the couch cushions ( _"Floo me, day or night, XOX Darla"_ ). He was about to leave when he noticed the hearth, covered with photographs; from one, a familiar blond head grinned up at him. The smile was completely free and unguarded, and Harry wondered what had provoked it. "I still think we need to talk," he said to the photograph, and then stared across the street where he imagined Malfoy might possibly be watching him -- might even be listening. The idea was not nearly as upsetting as it once would have been.

But when he Apparated back across the street, Malfoy's door was shut tight and warded so heavily that Harry could feel the uncomfortable magic bristling at the back of his neck.

*****

Draco didn't leave his room until late in the evening. By then, Harry had been watching Ginny and Viktor for several hours. They'd unpacked their bags away, eaten dinner, and now Viktor was taking out his cello. They looked happy and relaxed, and Harry hated them both.

Harry went to the loo and returned to find his chair shoved to the side, Malfoy's taking pride of place. Harry was about to protest when he saw Ginny kneel before Krum. His gut clenched to think of what happened last night. As wrong as he knew it was, he had to hear. "What are they saying?" he asked.

Malfoy hesitated; Harry fully expected he'd be made to beg again. But then the Slytherin waved his wand and Krum's voice filled their room.

"Now, my darling, I will play for you a song of love …"

"Oh, please, not this again," sighed Malfoy. "'I learned it from a cross-eyed Macedonian fiddler...'"

"… I learned it from a blind violinist in Karlovo."

"Close enough," Malfoy quipped.

"He said to me, 'Viktor, you will only play this song for the one you want with to spend your life...'"

" _'To spend your life with,'_ you pillock. You'd think as many times as you've said it, you'd get it right. Cup of tea, Potter?"

Harry thought at first that Malfoy was commanding him to fix tea, but then realised it was an offer. "Um, sure. Thanks."

A cup floated toward him as the room. Just the right amount of milk and sugar -- and when had Draco learned how he liked his tea? _"About the same time as he'd learned the other man's preferences"_ he answered silently. (Steeped just a minute too long, the bitterness tempered with a drop of milk.) He pushed these troubling thoughts aside before they could become troubling, listening as the room filled with Viktor's melancholic melody. If this was a love song, Harry thought, it was more about the pains of love than its joys. It was sad and beautiful, though, and he sat as rapt as Ginny did. Malfoy, on the other hand, was looking more and more perplexed with each passing bar.

"Harry…" and Malfoy sounded so perplexed that Harry hardly registered the use of his first name, "did he not drink his tonic?"

"That stuff he has before meals? Yeah, he did. Why?"

"From that gold flask in the kitchen?"

"Yeah, that's the one. What's going on?"

"He shouldn't be able to do this. Unless there's some kind of delayed reaction … I need to check my notes …"

He started to rise, but Harry leapt up in front of him. "Malfoy! For the last time, tell me what you did."

"Are you all right?"

Ginny's voice broke through what was now silence. Harry whirled around to see her helping move the cello away before kneeling between Viktor's legs.

"I don't know … all of sudden I feel pain, like my ears about to explode …"

"Perfect," Harry heard Malfoy whisper, but he couldn't tear his eyes from Ginny.

"Honey, maybe you should lay down."

"No, no, it passed. Look, is fine now." He wrapped his arms around her waist. "Is probably just from Apparating so far."

"You're probably right. But if it happens again, you should stop in at St. Mungo's …"

Harry threw himself back down into his chair and glared at the image, remembering too well when all Ginny's concerns had been for him. On the contrary, Malfoy looked quite chuffed. "What did you do?" Harry asked again.

"Oh, let's just say that playing his instrument is going to be very painful from now on."

"What did you put in his tonic?"

"Not in his tonic, Potter, that'd be too easy to detect. I charmed that precious gold flask of his with a Vox charm keyed to musical instruments. You know how loud their voices must be for us to hear them over here? That's what Krum's going to hear every time he touches his cello."

"And when he plays with the orchestra…"

"Then his head really might explode! At the very least, it'll feel like it." Malfoy grinned maniacally, thoroughly pleased with the success of his devious plan, and Harry started to grin back. But then he noticed that Ginny and Viktor were engaged in a deep kiss. Ginny's cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright, and she looked at Krum with such solicitude that Harry felt a pang of regret for what they were doing.

"Maybe this is wrong," he said.

"Oh, Potter, not another speech about illegal spells. Give it a rest."

"No, not the spells. Just … all of this." He waved his hand toward the image. "What if the only thing they've done wrong is to fall in love?"

Malfoy narrowed his silvery eyes and studied him like a museum piece. "You really believe in love, Potter?"

"Of course I do. Don't you?"

In that infuriating way he had, Malfoy answered the question with his own. "What is it then?"

"Love? It's … it's complicated." Malfoy just shrugged, not giving him a break, so Harry tried again. "It's like, you're hollow, like there's something missing inside you, but you can't fill it up by yourself. No matter what you do, you still feel empty. And then you find someone who fits perfectly into that missing space. And they want the same things as you do, and they care about things the same way as you do, and then suddenly you're not empty anymore. I think that's what love is."

"And that's what you had with Girl Weasley."

"That's what I had with Ginny, yes."

Malfoy shook his head. "Who would have believed you'd be such a romantic still, after all you've seen. Do you know how easy it would be to crush you?"

His eyes gleamed and Harry found himself reaching instinctively for his wand. "Stronger wizards than you have tried," Harry reminded him.

"Perhaps. But perhaps they didn't know where to attack."

"And you do?"

"Perhaps," Draco repeated, feigning boredom as he added, "if I cared to." He gestured toward the images. "Oh look, they're heading to the bedroom. Now you can really torture yourself over that empty space that Viktor does such a good job of filling up."

It was hard enough knowing that not long ago he had been lying on those very same sheets with Malfoy without the man being an utter twonk. "Piss off, Malfoy!"

"Gladly, Potter. But if you're having second thoughts about what we're doing here, just keep this in mind: right now, Ginny Weasley thinks she's the most important thing in the world. She's lit up like the front window of her brothers' joke shop, all because of how that man looks at her. But one day soon she'll realise that she was just a stepping stone to a visa, or to her father's Ministry connections, or whatever he needs at that moment. And when that happens, the innocent girl you know will disappear forever."

Harry didn't need to ask if this was what had happened to Malfoy. Although the Slytherin stared straight ahead, carefully avoiding Harry's eye, his carefully constructed mask had slipped. It was at that moment, for the first time in their long acquaintance, that Harry consciously decided to go easy on Malfoy.

"You know, one thing that's been bothering me is that, with my chair on the side like this, I can never see Ginny's face when they're in bed."

Malfoy's expression was comical. Harry knew that he'd expected to be flambéd and didn't quite know how to react to the opposite. "You … you want us to swap places?"

Harry shrugged. "If it's all right with you. I reckon it'll take a few more days before this mission comes full bloom -- though this is a good start, I've got to hand you that."

The blond beamed bright as sunshine at the unanticipated praise. "It was quite good, wasn't it?" He stood up and drew his wand. "Right, so we'll put your chair over there … or ..." With a whispered spell his loveseat stretched into a larger sofa. "Is this all right?"

"Sure it is." In truth, Harry was impressed that the other man was willing to broker this truce. To seal the deal, Harry plopped down beside Malfoy and said, "So. Crisps or popcorn?"

"Oh, crisps, please. Are there any tea biscuits left?"

"I think so. I have Licorice Wands, too…"

The rest of that evening was spent with the two men divvying up sweets and tentatively trying out the fit of their new … could it be called friendship? Perhaps, for they found the scenes across the street weren't nearly as painful when they were watching together, adding their own dialogue and laughing at things that earlier would have caused distress. And if they slept together again, it wasn't the result of any displaced passion or embarrassing inebriation. It was simply full bellies, the quiet of the night, and a genuine sense of comfort that left the two men nodding their sleepy heads on the couch they shared.

*****

"I've brought lunch. Egg salad or tunafish?"

Over the next days, the men settled into a comfortable pattern. Harry rose early enough to see Ginny off to work; she'd taken on several Minister's children for flying lessons. After she left, Harry would wander out for a while to shop or explore the Muggle sights. He'd return to Draco's animated updates of what he'd missed.

Harry was surprised that he got on with his former enemy so well. Their attentions were ostensibly focused on their exes, but along the way Harry discovered all sorts of things about Draco Malfoy himself. Like the fact that he'd become a curse-breaker -- one of the best according to his own account. Strangely, that boast didn't send Harry's temper rising as it once would have, probably because Malfoy was as quick to admit his own failings as his successes. He had Harry in stitches over the Norwegian crone whose wolfhound had taken an unhealthy carnal interest in young blond wizards, but then went strangely quiet after recounting his failure to save several children, both Muggle and magical, from a demented sorcerer. This wasn't the spoiled child that Harry remembered, but a man who'd made his own way in the world, and taken to heart each of its lessons.

But he could still be an obnoxious prat when he wanted to be.

"I swear, Potter, do you deliberately select the blandest foods? You could just as easily to go to Diagon for some real food."

"Fine, you can pick out dinner. I like the corner shop. Mina's sister is stopping there on her way back to Lahore."

"Who? Oh, never mind, I have no intention of involving myself in your Muggle soap opus. I'll have the tuna. Is it on white?"

"Soap operas. And yeah." Harry flopped on the couch beside Malfoy, handing him the sandwich packet. "So what's happening?"

"He just got back from the Healer. No progress discovering the curse, thank you very much. She found another note while he was gone -- brilliant idea putting them in his robes, by the way -- but she hasn't mentioned it yet."

The discovery of the first note a few nights earlier had triggered an argument, but nothing on the scale that Harry had hoped. Malfoy urged patience; it might take time, he promised, but Krum's excuses would soon wear thin. Harry wondered if that Draco spoke from experience, but he didn't feel comfortable asking. He didn't really want to hear about Viktor and Draco, and he didn't want to question why.

"Who is Darla?" Ginny was asking now, her voice heavy with worry. Harry snuck his hand into Malfoy's bag of crisps and got ready for the show.

"Darla? I don't know any Darla."

"Viktor, please don't lie to me. There's a woman named Darla who wants you to floo her, day or night. You must know what that's about."

"Ginevra, darling, is this more imaginations? Darla? I do not know this woman."

"No, this isn't my imagination!" Ginny waved the parchment at Viktor, who stared at it dubiously. "This is real.

"Darling, I do not know. Maybe … maybe this is just a woman in the audience, someone who wants me to notice. Her, I do not notice. I am with you."

"Just listen to him, trying to weasel his way out."

"He didn't _do_ anything, Potter."

"Ah, yeah, right." But that hardly mattered. Their break-up was imminent, Harry could feel it. Any minute now, Ginny would turn to Viktor and tell him it was over. She'd be distraught when she left, with nowhere to turn. And Harry … Harry would find her, dry her tears, and take her home where she belonged. It was about to happen, any minute now …

"Do you promise? Because if you're seeing someone else, you can tell me. I'll forgive you, I just … I need you to be honest with me."

"No!!"

Draco laughed at Harry's outburst. "You didn't honestly think a few notes were going to be enough to break them apart, did you?"

"No, but I …"

"They _love_ each other, Potter. And here I thought you were the romantic. Don't you think love is strong enough to help them weather a few storms?"

Glum, Harry watched as Viktor kissed Ginny's hands. "You are my life, Ginevra. I could lose my money, my music, even my hair." Malfoy snorted loudly at that. "As long as I have you, I have everything I need. Do you think I could give that up for other woman?"

"No, I don't." Ginny slid closer to Krum, throwing her arms around his neck. "If you feel like I do, Viktor, then I know you couldn't."

"And what if my hearing never comes back? What if I can never play the cello again?"

"Then you'll play my body instead, and I'll make music for you."

"All right, that's it." Draco dispensed with his sandwich wrapper with a flick of his wand. "If I hear one more word of this I'll be sick. And you'll not torture yourself with this tripe either, Potter. Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"Always with the questions! Is it too much to show a modicum of trust at this point in our relationship?"

Harry thought about that for just a second and then did something he'd never imagined: with no idea of where he'd be taken, he accepted Malfoy's arm and was Apparated away.

He blinked when they reappeared at the edge of a flat, green plain. A thick close of trees rose around them, just barely taller than the ringed goals at each end. On one side was a small raised stand where observers could sit. Harry realised that this was a practice pitch for Quidditch friendlies. "Where are we?"

"The Manor." Not giving Harry time to be stunned by this news, Malfoy strode off towards a small hut nestled at the tree line. "I thought flying might clear our minds."

"I think that's a brilliant idea," praised Harry as he trotted behind.

In no time they'd selected their brooms and taken to the sky. Harry would have been content to just float peacefully -- until now, he hadn't noticed how much he'd missed the country air -- but Malfoy, ever competitive, was having none of this. "Come _on_ , Potter!" he shouted as he swooped in a curling pattern around Harry's broom. "You fly like a crone!"

"Fuck you, Malfoy."

The wind rushed by as Harry gathered speed, easily catching up with Malfoy and then passing him. Not to be outdone, the blond hunched over and raced forward, executing a smooth barrel roll as he pulled ahead. It looked like so much fun that Harry tried it too, and soon the two were rolling and skimming through the clouds like playful otters.

"Higher?" challenged Malfoy, floating upside down just above Harry.

"Race you!" came the answer as Harry tilted his broom up.

Up they rose, slicing their way through the puffed cotton wool of the stratocumulus. Harry kept his eyes locked on Malfoy's dark robes as they sliced through the misty air, the bracing winds tempered by the thrill coursing through him. At last they surfaced in another world. His gaze dropping irresistibly down, Harry slowed. Waves of white stretched below him, looking so solid he could almost believe they were snow-covered hills.

It'd been far too long since he'd flown like this, with abandon and no purpose other than to see how fast he could go, how high. Ginny rarely flew for fun anymore; it was her job, she said, and even when he did convince her to take to the air she was a cautious flyer. Great coach that she was, she had witnessed too many accidents to savour speed for its own sake.

Malfoy was reckless, Harry decided as the Slytherin dipped and rolled. He used his broom like a pivot, grounding the edges of his body as they buffeted on the winds. Had it been Ginny hanging so high by nothing more than a sweaty hand on a stick of wood, Harry's nerves would have been shot. Instead, he felt eerily calm watching Malfoy frolic. The memory of Draco's gift returned, with the image of that painted seeker chasing a dot of gold high above the earth. If he squinted just right, Harry could just about make out the glitter that enticed Malfoy to soar.

When had he begun to think Malfoy was beautiful?

"Wait for me!" Harry called out. He was faster than his words, though, passing them by as he raced towards Draco. The other man, soon as he noticed him coming, swung 180 degrees on his broom and started back. As if by mutual agreement, both men picked up speed. They careened toward each other, low on their brooms, eyes steeled. One false move, one inch the wrong way, and they would crash head first. Strange then that Harry felt utterly calm.

Time turned sluggish just before they met. Harry had an instant to feel the current of air pushed ahead of Malfoy as he raced forward. He saw pale wind-cracked lips creep up at the corners, just barely. And when both of them rolled ever so slightly, each to their own right, he heard the sharp intake of air that could have been him or could have been Malfoy or might simply have been the cloud sighing with relief that it did not have to catch their fall.

An exhilarated whoop filled the air, and Harry echoed it. Heart racing, he swirled around to see the source of the sound. Malfoy had shot far past their meeting point and now was playfully skimming the tufts of the cumulus as he looped his way back. Harry watched, both entertained and envious. Malfoy looked like a boy again -- maybe not that same annoying kid who'd bragged about dodging helicopters, but young enough not to have had his heart shattered.

As Harry flew to join him, he felt his own years slide away.

*****

"That was brilliant!" Harry exclaimed the moment they Apparated back to the office building.

"Yeah, you might've mentioned that once or twice." Or ten times, but Draco didn't look like he minded. "Next time we'll get the Snitch and …" He froze, raising his hand when Harry started to question him, and drew his wand. Harry felt it then: an unfamiliar magic like a tickle behind his ear -- magic powerful enough to penetrate their combined wards. He stepped into the space left by Draco and, just as they'd moved together on the pitch, followed him into the viewing room.

Harry didn't remember leaving the Spectrescope running. Without their magic to draw upon, it should soon have gone dark, but it was on now and Krum was showering. This was often Malfoy's favourite moment -- he claimed it wasn't because of the fine view but because immediately after Viktor would work the defiled hair cream through his waning follicles.

But tonight their attention was anywhere but the Spectrescope. Harry scanned the room for threats, moving silently opposite Malfoy. At the same moment they spied the intruder: an aged witch whose white bun nestled between the pillows was the only thing holding up her sleeping head. Harry stared at Draco staring at the woman, watching as the blond shook her shoulder.

"Nana?"

The witch blinked a time or two and threw up her arms. "Draco! My dear little dragon!"

If Harry had thought Malfoy looked like a boy before, it was nothing compared to how he looked when he emerged from the crushing hug. With haystack hair and a sheepish grin, he stared in disbelief at the witch. "Nana, what are you doing here? How did you find me? Does Mother know you're in the country?"

"So many questions and not even a proper introduction. Really, Draco, I'd have thought the one thing you'd have learned from that son of mine was manners." She held out her hand to Harry. "It's so nice to finally meet you, Viktor. I've heard so much about you."

"Oh, I'm not …" Malfoy dissolved into a coughing fit and Harry changed his tune. "Um, Mal-- Draco hasn't told me much about you."

" _Viktor_ ," said Malfoy, the name coming out like it was spoken through a mouthful of sand, "this is my grandmother, Phaedra Malfoy. Remember I told you she was living abroad? How is Buenos Aires, Nana?"

"The city is lovely and the men are lovelier. You'd enjoy the sights, Draco. Oh, don't give me that look, Viktor, I'm sure you would, too. When are you two coming to visit? Those transatlantic Apparitions aren't as hard on you young folks as they are at my age."

Harry didn't know what kind of "look" he had, but he tried to school his features. Imagining that he was talking to Molly Weasley seemed to help. "I'm sure we'd love to, Madam Malfoy."

"Oh, call me Phaedra, please."

Draco smiled gratefully at Harry before turning his charms to his grandmother. "And what is this 'at my age' rubbish. Honestly, you don't look a day over a hundred."

"Oh, hush, child. At least you've not grown up to be as unctuous as your father, thanks be to Brìghde."

"Nana and Father didn't quite see eye to eye," Malfoy explained.

"That's the nice way to put it, Draco." The witch leaned to confide in Harry. "The truth is, my son was always a stiff-shirt with more ambition than brains. Just like his father. I always thought that man had a bowtruckle up his …"

"Nana, how about we treat you to a late dinner? Viktor knows all the best restaurants around."

Harry grinned and held his arm out to Malfoy's grandmother. "How do you like Greek, Phaedra?"

"The food or the men? Actually, both are quite delicious."

Harry looked over in time to see Malfoy roll his eyes. Yes, this promised to be an interesting night indeed.

*****

Harry had never met a vegetarian witch before. Then again, many things about Phaedra Malfoy defied convention. She was what Aunt Petunia would have sneeringly called a "free spirit." And to find it in a Malfoy was astonishing.

"A Renault, dear," she said, tucking into her spanakorizo. "I wasn't born a Malfoy."

"Nana and Grandfather Malfoy were estranged during the first war--"

"Oh, heavens, yes. I've no patience for all that nonsense."

"--but she lived with us after I was born. Grandfather was dead then, I never knew him."

"I never knew mine either," said Harry. A look of shared sympathy passed between them before he turned back to Phaedra. "So you don't believe blood purity is important?"

"For the society pages, perhaps. But in terms of magic, it matters not a whit."

 _"Why hadn't this woman had more influence on Draco,"_ Harry wondered. She'd given him his love of flying -- her gift for her grandson's fifth birthday was a broom -- as well as the razor-sharp wit that Harry had recently discovered. If Malfoy had been like this at Hogwarts, Harry was sure they'd have been fast friends.

But Phaedra, as it turned out, had only resided in Malfoy Manor until Draco was six. "Too many places to see in this world," she gushed, entertaining Harry with stories of everywhere she'd been. Thankfully she'd never visited Bulgaria, saving him from all kinds of embarrassment. He tried to make up a few details to satisfy her curiosity, but with Malfoy choking down giggles beside him, they might not have been too convincing.

It turned out to be remarkably easy, pretending to be Malfoy's lover. Harry didn't have to fake his affection for the man; that had grown of its own accord over the past weeks. He found himself genuinely interested in what Draco said, and the way he said them -- how his laughter bubbled over like steam from a kettle, and how his face, unmasked, was more alive than anything Harry had ever seen. When, after boldly nicking the last bite of Harry's baklava and getting rapped knuckles in return, Draco flashed the same smile he'd had on the Quidditch pitch, Harry's heart sprang into his throat.

It was still loitering there when Phaedra pulled out a Muggle camera. "I need a snapshot of you boys for my scrapbook. Move in closer…"

"Nana and her cameras," Malfoy sighed. "She doesn't like magic ones." He budged over in the already cramped booth until Harry was pressed against the wall.

"They move too much, there's always too much to see. Now, say 'ice mice'!"

"Really, Nana, you still say that? We're not kids anymore."

"Fine, then pucker up and give me a big one."

"A kiss…?" Harry gulped down the lump in his throat that seemed to be expanding with each passing second.

"A big sloppy one that will make Abraxas spin in his grave."

Draco shrugged. "She always gets her way." But he was looking at Harry bashfully, like he might not mind so much if she did.

Harry realised that he didn't mind either. "More stubborn than you, then?" he teased, but he removed the sting with a hand on Malfoy's chin, guiding their lips together for a chaste kiss.

"Oh, please, you boys can do better than that!"

They could, Harry knew that from experience. He also knew that this was the first time he would really be kissing _Draco_. The notion made the ground shake. Ignoring the roar in his ears, Harry leaned forward and found Malfoy already there. His lips were warm, sweetened with honey and ouzo, and parted just enough that Harry's slid into perfect alignment. Their tongues met, twisting and wet, with none of the timidity Harry had expected. This kiss was assured, demanding, and Harry shivered. Danger was inherent in demanding anything of Malfoy, especially this. Especially when it was being reciprocated with such fervor.

When he heard the click of the shutter, Harry knew the kiss could end, but he made no move to do so. Draco pulled back first, although his tongue's parting swipe of Harry's lips suggested that it was with reluctance. Harry opened his eyes to see Draco staring at him. He wasn't sure what he expected to see there. Disdain was a possibility, even disgust. But he didn't expect a soft radiance to shine through.

While still looking at those unblinking grey eyes, Harry heard Phaedra curse from what sounded like far away. "Stupid thing didn't flash." After a quick look around, she waved her wand over it. "Let's try that again."

Harry silently thanked the broken camera for sending him back to where he wanted to be. This time he brought his hand up to cup Draco's chin as they fell toward each other. The bristled skin was proof that he was kissing a man, the liquorice-flavoured tongue hungrily devouring his mouth evidence that his desire wasn't one-sided. Harry's fingers slid down Draco's chin, trailing down the pillar of his throat. The skin under his hand was softer than he expected, inviting him to explore more, to discover what other surprises the man's body held.

The camera's click was especially hated this time, its jolt felt all the way down into his tightening trousers. Harry pulled away first this time; Draco's hand lingered on his chest for a second, his lips so close tempting Harry to pull him back for more. But Phaedra's voice broke in, saving him from that embarrassment.

"Well, I guess I should be off. Draco, can you take care of the cheque? I don't have any Muggle money on me."

"I've got it," Harry said, welcoming the opportunity to adjust himself before they stood to leave.

Outside, as they were walking to a private place to Apparate, Draco turned to Harry, laughing. "I can't believe you fell for that line, Harry. Nana's got piles of Galle-"

Malfoy's eyes bulged as he realised his slip. Before he could make a production of it, though, Harry steadied him with a hand on his back. "It was my pleasure, Draco." Malfoy gave him such a warm look of gratitude that Harry blushed as he turned to Phaedra. "Are you sure you have to leave so soon? We'd love for you to stay longer."

"And I'd love to, child, but I promised Paulo I'd model for him and you never know when his muse will strike. Besides, you two need to get back to work. That's quite a job you've got, renovating that old building. I hope you don't spend all your time watching the wireless."

"The wireless?" Harry and Draco asked together.

"Or whatever it is you call it, the thing that plays all the dramas. I've not heard so much yelling since Argentina won the Copa Libertadores."

Harry had no idea what that meant, but he did latch onto one word. "Yelling?"

"Oh, such drama you wouldn't believe. I tried to tune in another program but I must not have done it right."

"What were they yelling about?" Draco asked.

"Well, it was a man and a woman. And she had accused him of cheating on her-- oh, Draco, surely you're not interested in this."

"But I am!"

Harry chimed in. "We've both gotten addicted to the story, I'm afraid. So she said he was cheating?"

"Yes, and he said he wasn't, of course. But she'd found love letters, you see, and receipts for some very expensive gifts. The man insisted he didn't have any idea what she was talking about."

"But she didn't believe him?"

"No, and she was right not to. He eventually confessed--"

"He confessed?"

Harry hadn't noticed his hand still rested on Malfoy's waist, right in the curve where it seemed to think it belonged. But now he felt every muscle in the man's body tense as they awaited Phaedra's next words. Suddenly self-conscious, he dropped his hand.

"Oh yes, he said he slept with a woman he worked with, someone in the orchestra. Oh, Viktor, I see now why you like this show. Anyway, she threatened Scrotacontorta and other interesting hexes -- frankly I was a bit disappointed she didn't follow through, but I guess they don't want to give anyone ideas. Still, if it was me, I'd--"

"What happened then, Nana?"

"She packed a bag and left. That's where he was when you boys arrived; it was getting quite tedious, to be honest, I really don't know why you watch such things. But never mind, as long as you're happy. And you look like you are." She pulled Malfoy close. "You look like you're finally getting what you want, child."

She whispered something that made Draco go tomato red before turning to Harry and squeezing him in an equally tight hug. "Promise you'll take good care of my grandson," she said quietly. "He's never shared his heart easily, but I can tell you have it."

"I will, ma'am." But Harry paid little attention to her words. They'd won! Ginny and Viktor were finished! It was his dream come true!

Phaedra didn't seem to notice his distraction. "And I'll expect to see you both very soon."

"Yes, Nana."

The crack of her Apparation was drowned in the squeal of a braking bus. Muggles laughed from the main street. Harry and Draco just stared at each other for a moment before simultaneously Apparating home.

Harry spelled the Spectrescope and Viktor's flat appeared, looking like a train had crashed through it. His desk had been upended and papers were strewn everywhere; the man paced back and forth through the mess with a half-full bottle of scotch. He tipped it back now and drained the rest. Draco gasped.

"That was a 1926 Macallan! A century-old scotch!"

Harry burst out laughing at Draco's indignation. Draco spared another look at the Spectrescope and grinned back. "We did it, Potter!"

They'd done it! It felt like winning the Quidditch Cup and the House Cup and an Order of Merlin all in one. "Can you believe it? It really worked!" Suddenly his arms were full of Malfoy, an exuberant and giddy Malfoy. Harry's feet left the floor, Draco's grip tight around his chest, their hands clapping, their voices filling the room with laughter.

After a few moments of celebration they broke apart, their unrestrained rejoicing dissolving into nervous smiles. Draco leaned against the back of the sofa and crossed his arms. "So what are you going to do now?"

"I'm …" But Harry was drawing a blank. He honestly hadn't thought that far ahead. Finding Ginny should be the first thing on his agenda, but predicting her actions, those he'd once known so well, now seemed to require a lot of thought. "I … guess I should find her. I don't think she'd go home, though. She wouldn't feel right about it … not so soon."

"So where would she go? Does she have friends here?"

"Friends, I … I really don't know."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. Harry didn't find that as exasperating as he once had. "Potter, you are useless. Think! Did she stay anywhere in London?"

Harry's mind grew more sluggish at Draco's demands. "There was that guesthouse … I wonder if I kept the address …"

"Well what are you waiting for, Potter? Go get your girl!"

"But … right now?" Harry felt like he was standing knee-deep on the ocean's edge, but without warning the currents were dragging the sand out from under his feet. Before long he'd be swept away. It was crazy, this was exactly what he'd wanted. It was what they'd both worked towards for weeks. But now it felt out of his control.

"Of course right now. She's never been more vulnerable; it's the perfect time to strike." Draco's voice was as cold as Harry had ever seen it, the calculations apparent in his shaded eye as much as his words. But then he turned on Harry with that same incisive gaze. "You haven't changed your mind, have you, Potter?"

"Changed my mind? Of course not." This was just unexpected, that's all. He still wanted Ginny, of course he did. Now his life could go back to normal. His quiet, stable, Malfoy-free life. That's what he wanted. What he _had_ wanted, anyway. What he still wanted, just … not when everything was moving so fast.

"Good. Accio guesthouse address." Draco caught the Ministry card as it soared from a pile of discarded paper. "There you go. Now, if you'll excuse me," he said, his voice too thin, like frayed parchment just starting to tear, "I've got some work to do, and I miss my privacy, so I think you should leave now."

Something in Harry rebelled at that. They'd come so very far, he and Malfoy. They were friends now, weren't they, if not even a bit more? Perhaps their goals would not overlap again, but surely they had discovered more in common, hadn't they?

"It's just I thought … I thought we could maybe take a minute to say goodbye."

Malfoy stared with an imperious gaze that would have made Lucius proud, his lips pressed tight. After a moment of silence, Harry scowled. "You have to ruin everything, don't you, Malfoy?"

"Have we said goodbye yet?"

"Yeah, we have."

If Malfoy was intent on them being enemies, who was Harry to argue? With one last angry glare, he disappeared.

*****

The receptionist confirmed that Ginny had booked herself into Lady Kew's Guesthouse. She offered to ring her room, but Harry declined. Malfoy was right: Ginny was at her most vulnerable right now, and that vulnerability was Harry's tether. Once upon a time he would have known exactly what to do, exactly what to say, but _"I just happened to be in the neighbourhood, and by the way I've been stalking you for a month"_ didn't have quite the tone he was going for.

While pacing in the garden, pondering his approach, Harry was interrupted by another wizard's appearance. Light from the guesthouse window illuminated Viktor Krum's distinctive profile as he crashed into a mulberry bush. Harry cast a quick concealment glamour -- not that Krum would have noticed him anyway, not with all the alcohol he'd consumed. He stumbled toward the door, pickled but purposeful, only to be ejected a few moments later by an even more determined porter. "You heard the lady. She doesn't want to see you." Krum struggled a bit, but he didn't stand a chance against the porter's Repelling Spell. "Go home and dry out," the porter sneered. "You want her to see what a lush you are?"

"Ginny!" Viktor was crying -- honest-to-god crying! -- and Harry was glad he was the only witness to the man's fall. Then he recalled that this was something that Malfoy would have wanted to see. His victory was finally won and Krum in despair. The Slytherin would have been delighted.

Harry really hated guilt.

"Come on, Krum," he said, looping the man's arm over his shoulder. Merlin, but he reeked of liquor!

"Who are you?"

"Consider me an expedient taxi."

Krum frowned -- Harry suspected he was struggling with the words -- but at last he seemed to accept this. "All right."

Together they Apparated to Krum's flat. Harry wanted to put the man to bed and then escape, but events quickly spiralled out of control.

"Have a drink with me, Taxi Man."

"I don't think that's such a good idea," protested Harry, sneaking furtive looks at the dark building across the road. "You need to sleep it off."

"No, Taxi Man. Is love. Is not something you can sleep off. Drink!"

A snifter of Henri IV appeared in his hand. Harry's weakness for cognac was born at Ron and Hermione's wedding, but this was much better stuff. Harry debated for half a secondd before deciding that if Krum was determined to decimate his liquor cabinet, who was he to stop him?

That was such a Slytherin thought that Harry stared accusingly at Malfoy's dark window.

"I lost her, Taxi Man," Krum was saying, his tears returning. "She was the light of my life and I lost her. All for one stupid night."

The last thing he wanted to do was offer reassurances to the man who'd stolen Ginny. Then again, he had to do something before Krum succumbed to alcohol poisoning. "There, there," Harry murmured, gently patting the broad back. "I'm sure it's not that bad."

A barrage of enraged curses floated in through the open window.

"What do you expect me to do?" Harry said helplessly. He knew that Malfoy wanted to savour his hard-won victory, watching Krum wallow in the misery that they had wrought. But Harry couldn’t bring himself to let that happen. "I can't just leave him!"

Viktor reasonably assumed the question was directed to him.

"Have another drink then, Taxi Man." Suddenly the snifter was full again. "Tell me, are you in love?"

"Yes," murmured Harry glumly. Having this conversation with Krum was a very bad idea, but the cognac was very, very good.

"How long you been together, Taxi Man?"

"A few weeks …" Harry froze. Why had he said that? Immediately he corrected himself. "I mean, since we were kids. We've always been together." He glared across the street, as if the man watching there were responsible for the slip of his tongue. But that made it worse, thinking of Draco's tongue. Sharp as a dagger it could be, but so delicious covered in honey … Dazed, and not sure where these thoughts came from, Harry stood to go, but Krum grabbed his arm and pulled him back down to the couch.

"I have fucked up, Taxi Man. My woman, she is so beautiful, you know. She make me feel complete. Always something missing inside, until I meet her. And then, it is not missing anymore. Is perfect with her. She make me feel warm, like cognac does, only all the time. Do you know what I am saying, Taxi Man?"

It sounded so like Harry's own definition of love that he was taken aback. "I think so."

"And I did something stupid, I know it. Now she say she doesn't want to hear my apologies. And I don't know what to do. Now I feel -- what is the word? Hallow?"

"Hollow."

Malfoy swore again. Harry sighed. It was going to be a very long night.

*****

It took the combined forces of Henri IV, Remy Martin's Louis XIII, and a port stamped with Tsar Nicholas II's seal to bring him down, but eventually Krum surrendered. By then, Harry was in no fit state himself. He couldn't even manage a weightlessness spell so he manoeuvred Krum to the bedroom Muggle-style. Then, exhausted, he passed out on the couch.

Harry awoke hours later at the sound of a sharp crack. In the dim light of the dawn he saw a figure standing over Viktor's brooms. It was impossible to see without his glasses, but really, who else could it have been?

"Malfoy?"

The man finished his incantation before answering Harry. When he did, it was with a wand pressed to Harry's neck, accompanied by a vicious snarl.

"Stay out of my business, Potter."

Distracted by Malfoy's swirling dark robes that looked ever so much like a cyclone through his grape-addled eyes, Harry failed to think of a comeback. When he finally did, he was once again alone in the flat. He groaned and fell back to sleep.

*****

Morning brought with it a jackhammer pounding Harry's skull. He thought longingly of Hangover Potion, but decided against stealing any of Krum's. Who knew what Draco might have tampered with?

After a stop at the chemist for untainted Pepperup and a bracing breakfast at the Fainting Goat, Harry felt like a new man. A brave man, one ready to embrace the future and reclaim his lady love. Except he couldn't say lady love, because that reminded him too much of Malfoy teasing him for being a romantic. That way led to a tangle of questions about what Malfoy would do now, which would then force Harry to consider why he even cared. And those thoughts certainly weren't conducive to the whole embracing the future thing. No, it was better to stay focused on the tasks at hand: find Ginny, take her home to the Burrow, and pick up their lives where they'd left off.

Easy-peasy.

Actually, the first part was. Ginny was at the Kew Gardens Quidditch pitch, where he'd seen her when he'd first arrived in London. She waved excitedly, running over to greet him as he'd expected her to do then. If not for her bloodshot eyes and the lines of worry in her face, he might suspect a Time-Turner at work.

"Merlin, Harry, is it really you?" she exclaimed after giving him a spine-crushing hug. "What are you doing here?"

"I just had some business to take care of," he shrugged. "I finished early so I thought I'd look you up, see how you were doing."

Her happiness slipped, and instinctively Harry put his arm around her. "If only you knew what I've been going through …" she said, burying her head in his shoulder. When she started to shake with tears, Harry couldn't repress his excitement.

 _"This is it,"_ Harry thought. _"This is where she tells me how much she misses me and what a mistake she's made. And I'll tell her that everything's okay, that now everything's okay."_

Ginny lifted her head though without saying any of those things. "Listen to me," she sniffed, wiping her eyes. "Here I am crying about my broken heart, after what I did to you." She jerked away as soon as she realised what she'd said. "Not that you have a broken heart, of course, I mean you seem fine and all…"

Her words trailed off when she realised what a hole she was digging for herself. Harry thought her sheepishness was awfully cute. "It was pretty broken."

 _"Don't admit that, you idiotic Gryffindor."_

For just an instant, Ginny's features sharpened and the red in her hair faded to silver. Then Harry blinked and her grateful smile came back into focus. "I can't tell you how good it is to see you. Are you busy now? I've got another twenty minutes of class, but then maybe we could talk. Want to stick around?"

"I'd love to."

Harry found a nearby park bench and settled in to watch her lessons. Ginny was always a pleasure to watch. She was a technically perfect flyer -- she'd had to be, relying on proven practices to compete with her rough-and-tumble brothers -- and that made her the perfect teacher. She accelerated at the preferred 45-degree angle, leaned at precisely the right degree to bank around the pitch, and she dismounted with nary a hair out of place.

Harry was bored.

His thoughts drifted back -- was it really only the day before? -- to that mind-stopping thrill of ascent and speed and, yes, danger. Of abandoning every clouded thought and knowing nothing but the sheer physical rush of Malfoy hurtling toward him. It was reckless and it was bloody dangerous, Harry knew that as well as he knew his own name. He also knew it had made the blood in his veins squeal with glee, as if they were riding a roller coaster instead of inching through the congestion on the M1.

Ginny would not have approved.

And maybe she was right. She'd seen more than her share of accidents involving both new flyers and old hands. The lucky ones just needed a painful course of Skele-Gro. Ginny had once said there was nothing worse than telling parents their child was injured because he flew too far or too fast. Harry gazed at the blue sky above and wondered what Ginny would have thought of the soaring Seeker in the painting ...

"Knut for your thoughts."

"Just daydreaming."

"Put it away for later," Ginny said, reaching for his hand. "I'm taking you to lunch and I want you to tell me everything you've been up to."

*****

Ginny picked at her jacket potato whilst Harry fed her a completely fictitious account of his activities. It shouldn't have been so easy to do, creating an alibi for these past weeks. Fortunately Ginny was as bad at Legilimency as he was at Occlumency, and he got away with it.

"It's silly," she said as they walked back for her afternoon class, "but when I first got here, I imagined you were watching with your Spectrescope to make sure nothing bad happened to me."

Harry's tongue turned to cotton wool, but somehow he managed to choke out, "They can't see that far."

"I know. I said it was silly."

She hadn't caught him then. He'd gotten away with that too. His conscience bellowed that he shouldn't be so pleased with himself, but then a second voice -- an annoying aristocratic drawl -- chimed in that his conscience had always been a wuss. He tuned both out. "But I would have watched," he assured Ginny, "if I could. I wouldn't let anything bad happen to you."

"I know you would, Harry. Merlin, how could I ever leave you? What was I thinking?"

He ground his teeth, surprised by the bile that rose at her words. "Why did you?"

"I don't know. I'm nutters. That's what Ron's always said."

 _"That's it? That's her explanation for sending your life into a tailspin?"_ Tempted as he was to answer that exasperating voice, Harry had to agree. "That's not a real answer."

"I know, I know." She stopped and put her hand on his cheek. "I don't have an answer. It was stupid of me. I thought … I wanted something different, Harry. We were together so long."

Harry frowned. "Is that such a bad thing?"

"It wasn't fair to you. You've always been so good and kind and honest. You'd never do anything to hurt me."

Harry winced. "Ginny, there's a lot you don't know about me."

"Now who's being silly? Of course I know you. You've always been my brave hero."

That irritating voice was starting to flare up again when a boy called, "Coach Weasley? Is it okay if we start our warm-ups now?"

"Just a moment, I'll be right there." Ginny turned back to Harry. "Can I see you tonight? I'll be at Lady Kew's Guesthouse after eight. We could have dinner, talk…"

"I'll be there," said Harry, squeezing her hand.

That was as public a display as Ginny had ever allowed. So Harry was startled when she kissed him as passionately as if they were in the bedroom -- more passionately, it seemed, for her tongue was alive and her breasts flattened into his chest through her thin summer robes and Harry couldn't remember when she'd last kissed him like this …

Catcalls and whistles interrupted them. Ginny pulled away, freckles darkening her flushed face. "Tonight, then," she said, her voice brimming with promise.

Speechless, Harry nodded and watched Ginny return to her class. They swarmed around her, still teasing. "Breaking in a new one, coach?" one boy jeered.

As Harry turned to go, he glimpsed a dark figure on the far side of the pitch. It was there for just a second, and then disappeared. If he wanted, Harry was sure he could easily convince himself that it was just the shadow from a passing cloud. Strange then, he thought, that this wasn't what he wanted at all.

*****

That afternoon, Harry returned to Ottery St. Catchpole for the first time in weeks. Their housekeeping charms had faded and a layer of dust coated every surface. Harry sneezed. Ginny couldn't come back to this -- she'd see in an instant that he hadn't been here for weeks.

Harry set to work casting Domestico Charms, but they weren't enough to distract him from the question that plagued him: How long could he keep up the pretence that he'd been here all the time? That story was sure to unravel the first time she talked to her parents. But he couldn't admit that he'd been spying on her. She believed he was good and kind and honest. What would she do when she knew that he'd destroyed her life? Because that was what he'd done, he realised. With Krum, Ginny had been as happy as he'd ever seen her -- happier, in fact. She was no longer the same girl he'd known since their schooldays. She'd discovered love on her own terms, not out of habit or expectation. And for a short while, she'd had someone who loved her back, imperfectly but passionately, the way she deserved to be loved. Painful as it was to admit, he knew that Ginny had bloomed.

Hermione's calendar still hung on the wall, the deceitful X's leading to Ginny's return mocking him in black ink. He flipped to the next month, taking comfort in the hopefulness of the empty days. The future was completely open. Harry could get her back, of that he had no doubt. But there would be a cost. There was always a cost.

*****

He told himself that it was only to get his things that he returned to the old office building. There was no reason, then, to feel disappointed when Malfoy wasn't there. _"But he is here,"_ Harry realised when he saw that the Spectrescope was running. "I know you're in there, Malfoy," he called through the warded bedroom door. "I want to talk to you." And to his surprise, he really did. For weeks, the Slytherin had been privy to almost every decision he'd made. Draco had questioned him, challenged him, and yes, changed his mind any number of times. Now Harry wanted the man to deride him for his change of heart, underscoring every insult with his insufferable haughty tone. If at the end of that Harry still believed what he was doing was right, he could put his doubts aside.

"I'm coming in, Malfoy, just to talk …"

Harry thrust his hand into the thick tangle of wards, anticipating a little discomfort, but not expecting the nasty shock of pain that reverberated into his funny bone.

"Fuck you, Malfoy," he barked. "That was uncalled for. If you're mad at me, just come out and say it."

But there was no sound; the wards shimmered falling back into place and then disappeared.

"You're such a fucking coward."

Harry stalked back to the viewing room. Viktor was in bed, Harry noted, and a young woman sat beside him. "Didn't take him long," Harry muttered. But his acrimony fled when he saw that she wore the distinctive olive robes of a mediwizard.

Harry was buzzing at the man's door not five seconds later. He remembered to cast his glamour charm just before the door opened.

"I'm a friend of Viktor's," he explained.

"Oh, thank Merlin," the mediwizard said, leading him to Krum's bedroom. "Did the hospital ring you? We've been trying to get in touch with his family in Romania…"

"Bulgaria. What happened?"

"An Icarus curse. He was flying and his broom just took off, higher and higher. Somehow he got it back down, but he lost control and crashed."

 _Malfoy standing beside the broom closet, a quiet incantation in the first rays of dawn …_

"Do they suspect foul play?"

"Of course; brooms don't act like that on their own. The Aurors are investigating. I suspect they'll want to speak with you."

"Me?" Harry's hand shook as he pulled a chair close to Viktor's bed. "I don't know anything."

The mediwizard busied herself with a tray of portions, not heeding his answer. "I don't suppose you'd be able to sit with him?" she asked. "It's only that I've got other patients to see to, and he really shouldn't be left alone."

It truly was the last thing Harry wanted to be doing -- first on his list was wringing Malfoy's shapely neck -- but the sleeping man moaned so pathetically that he couldn't refuse. he looked horribly ill, with his thinning hair and the distressed expression he wore even in sleep.

"I can, sure."

The mediwizard gave Harry instructions quickly, as if afraid he'd change his mind, and then Apparated away. It wasn't until she was gone that he remembered his date with Ginny.

Malfoy really did ruin everything.

"I ought to make you sit with him," Harry grumbled, knowing that Draco couldn't resist watching this show. "Couldn't trust you with him though, could I? Merlin, Malfoy, you said you weren't going to kill him. You'll end up in Azkaban, won't you -- just like your father." Harry clenched his fists, aching to hit something. He'd once told Draco that he didn't wish such a fate for him, even if they weren't friends. Now, with no idea what they were, he was furious enough that the thought was almost appealing. Spitefully he spit, "Your grandmother would be so proud!"

"Taxi Man, is that you?"

Viktor was trying to sit up, but Harry rushed to his side. "It is, Viktor. Lie back, the Healer said you shouldn't move." He got Viktor settled with his pain potion, and then asked, "Do you remember what happened?"

"My broom, it goes crazy, takes off for the clouds. Like I am going to outer space! Then it comes down and -- BOOM! -- suddenly there is tree. And I am still not on the ground."

"You were stuck in the tree? But how did you get down?"

Viktor frowned. Harry thought he must not remember, and was about to tell him it didn't matter, when he heard him utter a name: "Draco."

"Who?" Harry must have misheard. Or maybe Krum had just figured out who had enchanted his broom. Despite imagining Malfoy in prison, the idea sent a freezing rush of panic through him.

"It was my poor steadfast Draco. I was in the branches and he lowered me to the ground. He saved me. I was terrible to him, but still he saved me."

"Draco _saved_ you?"

"I told you, yes. And then he says something strange. He says, 'Stay away from Potter.' Nothing else. And then he's gone and the mediwizards come. I do not understand why he says that. I take Potter's woman from him, of course I stay away from Potter. Far away."

Harry's tongue stopped working just about the same time as his mind. Krum misinterpreted his silence. "You must think me terrible, Taxi Man, how I take another man's woman, how I cheat on her, how I use Draco. But I love my woman, I really love her. And Draco …" he sighed heavily. "Draco I try so hard with. He did so much for me, he make it so I can stay in England. I thought in time I grow to love him, you know? Thought if I could just love Draco, everything would be all right." Miserably, Krum wrung his hands. "But I try for years and it doesn't work. And then I meet Ginevra and I don't have to try. Is so easy, loving her. With her, the worst moments of my life were the happiest I've ever known."

The confession shook Harry, confirming his worst fears about what he'd done to Ginny. But the words that rolled off his tongue were an even greater shock.

"How could you not love Draco?"

His face both earnest and defensive, Viktor stared so hard that Harry feared his glamour would dissolve. "You can't choose who you love. Who the hell are you to judge?"

"I'm nobody, Viktor," Harry said softly. "I'm just the Taxi Man. And I've got a pick up to make. Will you stay in bed until I get back?"

*****

"Harry!"

Ginny opened the door wide, her silk dress shimmering. Harry stared at the pale blue fabric, his fingers twitching at the phantom feel of warm skin under the thin weave, of the sharp angle of a hip, the smooth plane of chest. He stepped into the room, willing the barrage of memories to release him.

"I remembered that you like this dress," Ginny said, mistaking his silence for admiration and showing off with a sultry swing of her hips. "We could always stay in for room service, if you'd like."

"Maybe a drink first?" Harry's throat was suddenly bone-dry. He drank the firewhisky she offered too quickly, making her peer at him nervously.

"Harry, is something wrong?"

So much was wrong, Harry realised, and he couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before. "You love him. You love Viktor."

Ginny went ghostly white. "I … I thought I did. Now I don't know," she stammered. She poured herself a drink, regaining control of her features, although her frantic eyes were a dead giveaway. The voice in Harry's head reminded him that Malfoy was much better at hiding his feelings.

"It was a fling, Harry. I was sowing wild stoats, like Hermione always says about Charlie."

Harry didn't bother to correct her Muggle expression. "It wasn't a fling, Gin. I wanted to believe it was -- hell, I wanted to believe you were under an Imperius Curse! Anything but admit the truth. But …" It was now or never. Harry sat down, staring into the caramel liquor in his glass. "It wasn't an act, Ginny. I saw you with him. I know you really loved him."

"You saw us? When?"

"I've watched you for nearly a month, me and Malfoy. We were in the building across the street from Krum's."

"You _spied_ on me? You and … and _Malfoy_?"

Anger punctured her calm façade, reminding Harry that Ginny was a formidable witch when she wanted to be. Grateful that her sundress could not conceal her wand, nevertheless he held up his hands in surrender.

"It was wrong, I know. I did it because I was worried about you. It wasn't like you to just disappear. I had to see if you were all right."

"And it took _a month_ of spying on me to see that I was?"

"Yes … I mean, no, we were … Malfoy wanted revenge, and I wanted to get you back."

"Revenge? Just what did you do, Harry?"

"Well, there was the hair restorative …"

Ginny's eyes blazed as he detailed their schemes. Once he had started he wasn't able to stop. The masochist in him even recounted how they'd witnesses the reaction to each incident. What surprised him was that it wasn't her furious look that hurt the most, but the memory that arose with each confession. There'd been no shortage of mischief in those weeks, but there were many more days that would have been tedious if not for Malfoy's company. Harry tried to bury these thoughts, they had no place in this conversation with Ginny, but it was almost impossible to recall this time without imagining satisfied smirking lips still shining from a greasy fish dinner or an impish glint reflecting the scene in the Spectrescope.

Ginny allowed him to speak interrupted, but it was clear that she would offer him no quarter. Harry imagined she was debating which Unforgivable to use first and he grew increasingly worried as he neared the end. "Ginny, I'm sorry," he finally said, not knowing what else there was to say. "I'm really sorry."

"You bastard!" she snarled, her slap bring stars to his eyes. When they faded, she was covering her face in her hands. Tears flowed through her fingers and Harry, drawn by his instinctual need to comfort, stood to put his arms around her.

Ginny was having none of it. She took a single step back and then filled the space between them with flying fists. "You lying bastard!" she growled. "You don't get to comfort me."

"Ginny, please forgive me."

"No, you don't get to be forgiven, not right now." She pulled away, full of fury, and paced by the window. "I've half a mind to call the Aurors on you both. Fucking Malfoy should rot for this."

Icy panic gripped Harry. He'd known this was a risk, but if he'd brought the law down on Malfoy … He rushed to make things right. "Please, Ginny, it was all my idea, really. Draco didn't have anything to do with it. He wanted revenge, but he went along with what I said."

Ginny stopped her pacing to stare at him. "Merlin, Harry, you're defending _Malfoy_? Who's under Imperius now?"

"No, Ginny, it's not that. It's just that …" _a flash bulb brightening a disorientingly grounding kiss_ "… see, we've kind of gotten to be friends …" _a ghostly figure watching as he and Ginny kissed_ "… or not friends, really, but I don't want anything to happen to him …" _'Stay away from Potter'_ "… so it's my fault, really, if you want to involve the Aurors."

Her eyes, once filled with tears, were now wide with horror. "Oh my stars! You're in love with Malfoy!"

"Don't be ridiculous!" _joyous laughter filling the thin air above the clouds_ "I've just gotten to know him better …" _the swing of gauzy silk over a perfectly curved bottom_ …

"Oh, Merlin, I like Malfoy."

Ginny glared at him. "Thrilled as I am about your epiphany, I need to check on Viktor now. Take down your little spy tower and I won't report you."

"I will, I'll do that right away. And I'll talk to Draco." His heart was racing in a way it really shouldn't be doing when he thought of the Slytherin. "Fucking hell, _I like Malfoy!_ "

Ginny pointed to the door. "Out, now! Before I change my mind!"

*****

Who would have imagined: Harry Potter liked Draco Malfoy. The very notion made Harry's head spin. Even more amazing, Draco Malfoy liked Harry Potter. Harry couldn't wait to tell him that.

He crept up the stairs to find Malfoy watching the Spectrescope. He looked almost exactly as he had every day for a month. Strange, then, that through Harry's newly love-struck eyes, the man looked like he'd stepped out of a dream. He wore his new indigo robes, the expensive ones that Harry had admired. His hair hung loose, floating on the violet collar like snow falling on the sea. Long legs peeked out from under the cloth, bridging their way to the coffee table, and to his chest long fingers clutched a china teacup. Harry indulged in watching him for a long moment, glad that Malfoy was unaware of his presence. But he should have remembered that Malfoy's hearing was keener than a niffler's, and every bit as sharp as his tongue.

"If you're attempting stealth, Potter, you'd do well to not stomp in like a drunken Graphorn. You might as well have heralds announce your entrance."

Harry rolled his eyes as he took his customary place on the sofa. "Hi, Draco." Malfoy huffed and shuffled to the far side like he was avoiding a bad odour.

"So to what do I owe this visit? Oh, yes, I assume you've come to collect your things. Although I don't know why you'd bother with those robes. They're fit for nothing but the rubbish bin …"

"Just shut it, Malfoy."

To his surprise, Draco did. Harry knew he had to jump in with both feet, before his better judgment or Malfoy's capriciousness made him change his mind. "This isn't about Krum any more, is it? You were watching me."

"What in the world are you talking about?"

"This afternoon. You were watching me with Ginny."

Draco's mouth spilled open but no sound came out. It took a second to collect his thoughts and a suitable retort. "I merely wanted to ensure that Girl Weasley was out of the way. The tonsillectomy she performed on you was quite reassuring."

Harry, recognising the tone of forced dismissiveness, slid closer until their knees almost touched. "You told Krum to stay away from me."

"It's called a feint, Potter," Draco snapped, retreating to the overstuffed edge of the dragonhide armrest. "If Viktor was to report this, what better suspect than the cuckolded boyfriend? And that would be _you_ , by the way."

"Right, except you didn't tell him to stay away from _Ginny_. You said to stay away from _me_. I think that's because you saw us together. And that bothered you, didn't it? Because of me, not Krum."

Harry reached for Draco's arm. For a few seconds his fingers rested on the elegant brocade, his touch tightened on the tense muscle underneath. And then he grasped empty air as the man sprang to his feet.

"Really, Potter. I suspected you had a drinking problem, but I had no idea that you had resorted to Muggle hallucinogens."

"Draco …" sighed Harry.

"No, Potter, I think it's vital that you confront this head on. There are people who specialise in this sort of thing. Perhaps a spell at St. Mungo's would do you good …"

"Malfoy, just _shut it_ and look at this."

Draco turned his guarded eyes from Harry to the Spectrescope, where Ginny had just arrived. She was carefully hugging Krum; he was weeping too, but he looked anything but unhappy. Seeing them gaze at each other with such love, Harry was sure he'd made the right decision. He might have been able to win Ginny back but he could never have given her this, no matter how much he tried.

Harry turned to Malfoy, hoping he would come to the same conclusion about Krum. When he saw veins the same blue as his robes bulging from a clenched fist, he knew it wouldn't be so easy.

"What have you done?"

The bitterness threatened to derail him, but Harry took confidence from the sight across the street. "Look at them, Draco. They're supposed to be together. Can't you see that?" He rose to his feet, standing just behind Malfoy. The other man tensed, but Harry didn't withdraw. On the contrary, he leaned forward, so close that fair hair tickled his cheek when he spoke. "They're really and truly in love."

"Love?" Malfoy tried to sound flippant, but it wasn't particularly believable. "You're such a romantic, Potter."

"Yes, I am, Draco. And it's Harry, by the way."

"Harry? Oh, your name …" As Malfoy smirked his body relaxed, drifting magnetically towards Harry. Harry met him halfway, not exactly holding him, but feeling the stretch of their bodies joined from thigh to shoulder. "Do you think it could work, though? He was cheating on her, remember?"

"I remember," said Harry. If he turned his head just so, his cheek glanced against Draco's rough skin. He hadn't shaved, then; the sandpaper bristles felt oddly arousing. Harry forced his eyes wide, focusing on the question hanging in the air. "Things aren't perfect, I'll give you that. But they'll have a better chance of working it out if we leave them be. I think she can be happy with him. I could never see her as anything but the girl I knew back at Hogwarts. With Krum, she can be who she wants."

Harry felt every muscle in Malfoy's body tighten the instant before he stepped away. He turned on Harry, fangs bared. "Well, bully for her, she's escaped Harry Potter's Mould for Good Wizards."

Before Harry could recoil from the venomous voice, a hawthorn rod was in Draco's palm, the tip pointed at Harry's throat. How had he drawn his wand so quickly?

"No, that's not what I meant …"

" _You_ shut it, Potter." Draco took a menacing step forward, forcing Harry to step back. "A month I've worked towards a single goal -- to ruin that man's life -- and in a single night you've destroyed everything."

"Draco, it doesn't matter any more. It's not about them. It's about _us_ …"

Like a serpent striking, Malfoy dove forward and Harry felt the bite of wood against his throat. "One more word and I swear, Potter, I'll take no responsibility for what curse comes out."

Harry swallowed hard, never doubting that Malfoy meant what he said.

"There is no us and there never will be. Get out of here, Potter. I need to get back to work, and I don't need you around making a mess of everything, distracting me …" Malfoy paused. His eyes roamed over Harry's face as if through a relentless search he could make sense of what happened.

Harry stared back into those questioning eyes, almost ready to risk everything for one more chance to explain. Malfoy might kill him, he would not put it past him, but he could at least tell him why he'd done it. He could convince him that this war was over, that their part in Krum and Ginny's romance was finished and that their own had just begun. But those words would not come. With his heart pounding against the back of his throat, they vanished off his tongue on a surge of adrenaline. Before he could reel them back in, Malfoy had found his answers.

"You gave him _hope_. You fucking bastard." Draco's eyes flashed with the chill of a glacier. "I'll never forgive you for that." His wand snapped back, the sharp tip grazing the underside of Harry's chin. "Get out."

With his violet robes whirling around him, the squall that was Draco vanished into his room. The air sparked as wards were violently erected; Harry knew he could expect more than a shock for trying to cross them this time.

It wasn't the first time that Harry had been told to get out that day, but it felt the most final. Obeying the frustrated wave of his own wand, his possessions shrank and flew into his pocket. His chair once again became telephone books; his bed, a filing cabinet. Aside from an open packet of Hobnobs and a few empty scotch bottles, all signs of his time here were gone.

Except for the Spectrescope.

Harry watched as two figures lay together in a wide bed. Facing each other their bodies curved like parentheses, comfortingly close as they breathed the same air. They were at peace, and at peace Harry thought they would stay. He didn't believe Malfoy would try again; if he did, this time they would be on guard. And they would have each other. They would be all right.

Harry touched his wand to the image. "Finite," he whispered, and it disappeared. All that remained was a clear quartz crystal nested in the ridges of a wide silver platter. He reversed its mutations, the transparent space taking on a lemony hue, the citrine darkening to peridot's pale chartreuse, and finally, the verdant depth of the emerald. Harry pinched the ring between his fingers, remembering how the jeweller had praised the cut of the fine stone. Eighty-one facets, she'd gushed, and on that day filled with hope it seemed like the sun sparkled from every one of them.

That day had never felt so far away.

 _"You gave him hope."_ On Malfoy's tongue it seemed the worst sin imaginable. Perhaps it was. Perhaps there was a finite amount of it in the universe; for one person to have it, another person had to give it up. For the past weeks they'd steadily siphoned it off Viktor and Ginny. Now that he'd given it back, hope was the one thing that Harry had no more.

*****

The flat was on the small side -- this was especially noticeable with the estate agent's wide derriere taking up half the dining room -- but Harry figured it was sufficient. The master bedroom would be perfect for his work, and the smaller one where he would sleep had a large east-facing window to help him wake early. And it was furnished tastefully, which was more than could be said for most of the places he'd viewed.

"It's a Muggle building, I'm afraid," sniffed Madam Mesne, "so the fireplace isn't connected to the Floo Network. In my day we'd never have thought to live without the Floo, but you young people don't seem bothered by that sort of thing."

Harry peered out at the shared garden. There was a shed there and a small vegetable patch, and plenty of room to sit in the sun if he felt so inclined. _"London won't be too different than Ottery St. Catchpole,"_ he lied to himself.

The past two weeks at Ottery St. Catchpole had convinced him that he couldn't stay there. It wasn't that anyone had blamed him for what happened. Ron stuck by his assessment that Ginny was nutters and the Weasleys assured him that he was still as much a part of their family as ever. It didn't feel right, though. He wasn't comfortable surrounded by the things he'd shared with Ginny. Not when she was with another man and his mind was on someone else.

And that was the other part of the problem. Not a day had gone by when his thoughts didn't turn to Draco. The man had gotten under his skin just like the annoying boy always had in school. Aside from nightly wanks in which Malfoy always seemed to play a lead role, Harry's thoughts were no more charitable than they'd been in second year. Unfortunately, it seemed his imagination had taken a shine to Malfoy and provided mocking commentary on Harry's every action; Harry of course retorted with frequent outbursts of "Sod off, Malfoy!" that luckily hadn't yet been noticed by his friends.

It would bother him more if it hadn't made him feel less alone.

But it _should_ bother him more. Harry knew this -- this was another reason why he was moving. A new start, a new life. A new flat. He wasn't up for the overpowering magic of Diagon Alley, but the mixed neighbourhood of Kentish Town should be just the thing.

"I'd like to move in immediately. Is that possible?"

"I don't see why not." With a tap of her wand a sizeable stack of papers materialised on the table. "Now if you'll just sign here …"

Soon they were finished and Harry had transported everything he needed from his old house. He was just hanging his robes in the press when he heard a sharp rap on the door.

"Coming," he called, sure it would be the estate agent needing yet another signature. He almost fell over when he saw who it was. "Madam Malfoy?"

"Phaedra, Harry, please." Her eyes -- the same colour as Draco's, he suddenly noticed -- were twinkling bright as Dumbledore's. "Won't you invite me in?"

"O- of course," he stammered, moving aside. "I'm just moving in, it's in a bit of a state."

The witch dismissed his words with a graceful wave, side-stepping his trunk as she appraised his new home. "Yes," she pronounced with satisfaction. "Yes, I like it. It has definite promise." She eased herself down on the sectional. "Please excuse my manners if I sit. That cross-Atlantic Apparation plays havoc on my old bones."

Harry nodded his permission; proper manners were the last thing on his mind right now. "H- how did you find me? And how did you even know I was _me_?"

"Oh, child, I might not have been here during the wars, but everyone knew of Harry Potter. Draco used to beg for your story every night at bedtime. Oh, that would send my son into such a tizzy." She smiled at the memory.

Harry couldn't help grinning back, as much at the image of young Draco falling asleep to the tales of the Boy Who Lived as at the thought of a flustered Lucius. "Yeah, I imagine it would."

"Besides, Bucharest isn't in Bulgaria. Really, Harry, you made me question the kind of education you boys received at Hogwarts."

"I was a bit preoccupied with things other than geography," he replied snappily. "Phaedra, I still don't understand how you found me. I just moved in this afternoon. And what are you doing here?"

"Well, as I expected, Paolo had me do some modelling when I got back. Poor man, for such a talented artist he suffers from a woeful ignorance of the human mind. He had me stand there for hours with absolutely nothing to occupy my thoughts."

"And so you figured out that I was pretending to be Krum?"

"Oh, heavens, no, I knew that before you'd finished your avgolemono. But I did figure out that you needed a good kick in the pants." She looked longingly toward the kitchen. "You couldn't scrounge up a pot of tea, could you, dear? I'm absolutely parched."

Harry rose stiffly, cursing the Malfoy family with each step. He returned with two cups and saucers. "I'm sorry, I've no milk … oh."

A trickle of white flowed from the end of Phaedra's wand into her teacup. "Would you like some?" She poured again until Harry's tea was a light tan. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes, modelling. Well, he has me there, naked as the Venus of Willendorf in that chilly studio -- it's winter in Argentina, you know -- and nothing to occupy my time but a Muggle television. Well, the human mind can only take so many _telenovellas_ , so at last Paolo asked a friend for the loan of a videotape. It was the only one in English he can find, and he thought I'd be thrilled with it. Do you know what it was?"

Harry shook his head, still reeling from the image of Phaedra Malfoy, naked and goose pimpled, and wondering if it'd be impolite to just Obliviate himself now.

"It was the story of this dog -- episode after episode of this dog's adventures with this little boy."

Harry remembered the show from his own childhood. " _Lassie_?"

Phaedra clapped her hands together. " _Lassie_! That's it, _Lassie_. You know it then? You may remember there came a time when Lassie was accused of a crime she didn't commit. I can't recall what they thought she'd did, but it wasn't important. The important thing was that the ranger was coming to put her to sleep. The little boy found out and he told Lassie that she had to go away, far away, for her own good. But Lassie wouldn't leave. Lassie couldn't leave the boy."

She paused and waited. Harry, who'd never had stories read to him as a child, stared at her until he realised what was expected of him. "What did he do?" he finally asked.

"The little boy told Lassie that he never liked her. He said, 'I hate you Lassie. You're a bad dog. I hope I never see you again.' And then Lassie trotted off, very sadly."

The hairs at the back of Harry's neck prickled in warning. "Why are you telling me this, Phaedra?"

"Don't you want to know what Lassie does?"

Harry shook his head vehemently. "I know what Lassie does. She realises that the boy doesn't really hate her and she comes back. This is a children's story, Phaedra. What does it have to do with me?"

"I think you know."

Harry reeled as he saw the parallel the witch was trying to draw -- and why she'd been able to draw it. "You've been spying on me!" Hypocritical, he knew, but at the moment he was so indignant that he didn't care.

"Not on you, no. But Draco's had an empathy charm on him since he was very young. I can tell when he's distressed."

"Why didn't you help him during the war then?"

"What makes you so sure I didn't?" Phaedra's eyes blazed, their cloudy hues revealing a power that he hadn't recognised before. Harry slumped in his seat. It was true, he couldn't be sure. The git had been so stupid at times that Harry was surprised he'd survived; maybe he had gotten some help from his grandmother. But this current situation, this thing between them now, surely it didn't warrant her intervention.

"I'm afraid I'd have to disagree, Harry. I think my intervention is extremely warranted."

Too late he felt the creeping coolness as the Legilimens sifted through his thoughts. He threw up his barriers, but her touch was already receding, having seen what she wanted to see. "I thought as much. You should tell Draco how you feel, Harry."

"I did." Phaedra's raised eyebrow was so like Malfoy's that he had to look away. "Well, I tried, but he was being such a bas- a brat about the whole thing."

The witch's smile was sympathetic. "He withdrew and attacked, I'm sure. It's what he does -- it's what he was taught to do, Harry. From the time that Draco was very young, Lucius made it clear that affection was something to be metred out sparingly. He learned that the one whose emotions are strongest is at a disadvantage, so he hides what he feels." She sighed. "I'm afraid that was my greatest failure -- I couldn't convince my son that everything is not a battle. I'd hoped that Draco could see that."

"He can," Harry reassured her, remembering those days when they'd seen each other as kindred spirits. "But then I … I told him I'd figured out how he felt." Harry grimaced, realising how what he'd done must have looked through the other man's eyes. He'd dragged Draco's feelings into the open, with no concession of his own. "No wonder he was mad."

"Oh, stop that, Harry, you look dour as a mooncalf. It's no good having both of you moping. You need to figure out what you're going to do now."

"I reckon I need to talk to him. But I'm not even sure where he's staying now. I don't know how I'll find him."

"Haven't you learned yet that I can find anyone?"

"Yeah, how do you do that?"

The witch smiled coyly. "Sorry, that's a Renault family secret. Besides, I think you'd best turn your mind to what you'll wear tonight. My grandson could never be attracted to someone dressed like a forest troll."

Harry was starting to realise what Draco had figured out years earlier: Phaedra Renault Malfoy was a force of nature and it did no good to cross her. Now he put his fate in her hands, watching as she tore through his wardrobe and allowing himself to feel a little of that elusive thing called hope.

*****

"Yes?"

"I'm with Mr. Malfoy."

The maître d' at Le Coq eyed him with practiced disdain, but when he turned and motioned Harry to follow, Harry knew he'd passed his first test. Phaedra had insisted that he wear his nicest dress robes, spelling the out-of-date tailoring to the latest fashion. They were black, of course -- Harry had chosen them for their practicality -- but now a brushed vermeil mantle draped over a high-collared tunic, its ruby threads setting off the heat in his cheeks that rose with every step he took towards his fate.

Harry spotted the other man first. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, staring intently at the murky shapes in his tall glass as if scrying for a vision. Although he was dressed in another impeccable suit of robes, Harry thought he looked a bit worn. His hair wasn't shining with its usual lustre and his face looked more pinched than normal. A small plate of escargot lay before him, untouched.

With a deep breath, Harry stepped forward. "Hello, Draco."

Draco's face was ashen as he lifted his eyes from his Pernod. For a second, Harry was certain that he would take flight. But then he simply replied, "Potter." Despite the glare of disgust, Harry took that as an invitation to sit.

"Phaedra told me I could find you here."

The tiniest flicker of interest escaped the disdain in Draco's eyes. "She did, did she? And what did that meddling old hag want?"

"She wanted to tell me a story."

An apron-clad server appeared just at that moment. "Would Sir care for an aperitif?"

"That won't be necessary," Malfoy snapped. " _Sir_ won't be staying."

"Thank you," Harry smiled at the server. "I'll have what he's having."

"Of course, Sir." He left, and a moment later a milky glass materialised beside Harry's hand.

Draco settled back in his chair, feigning a relaxation Harry knew he didn't feel. Taut muscles running the length of his long throat revealed just how tightly he was wound, and for once Harry didn't give a damn if it was strange to be studying Malfoy's throat. "I suppose you might as well tell me your damn story, Potter. I'm sure I won't have a moment's peace until you do."

"It's not my story, it's Phaedra's."

"Whatever." Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Just get whatever unsubtle metaphor she's concocted out of the way before my _plat principal_ arrives."

Harry knew that he should not find Draco's obstinacy so attractive, but after a fortnight of that contrary voice haunting him, it was refreshing to hear it in person. "The story is about a boy and his dog-"

"If I'm the dog in this story, you can stop right there."

Harry snorted. "No, I'm the dog. Her name is Lassie."

"You're a girl dog. That's even better. All right, Potter, you may continue."

Harry chuckled, his confidence strangely bolstered by Draco's contempt. "See, the grown-ups think Lassie's done something very bad and want to put her to sleep, but the boy, to save her, tells her to run away. Lassie doesn't want to go, but he tells her that he never liked her. 'I hate you, Lassie,' he tells her. 'I hope I never see you again.' Lassie's feelings are hurt, so she leaves."

"Does this story have a point, Potter? Or is this just more of my grandmother's absinthe-induced babbling?"

"You haven't heard the end yet. Lassie leaves, but then she realises that the boy didn't mean the awful things he said. The boy didn't hate Lassie. He was just afraid of what would happen if she stayed."

"So Lassie came back to the boy?"

"She did."

"And they lived happily ever after?"

"I guess so. Until their next adventure, anyway."

Draco scowled. "That's the most preposterous thing I've ever heard!"

"Why?"

"Because Lassie is a dog, Potter. A four-legged creature with even less capacity for reason than a Muggle."

"It's a story, Malfoy," sighed Harry. "You have to suspend your disbelief."

"And what's going to happen to Lassie when she gets back? The grown-ups are still going to think she's committed whatever heinous crime a dog can commit … chewing on slippers and toddlers and whatnot."

"The boy will convince them that she's innocent."

"No, it won't work. Lassie's impression of the boy is too tainted. She's never going to see that he's not the same boy he was." A fall of flaxen hair veiled his face as Draco shook his head. "No, it's better if Lassie just stays away."

Harry was confused, as much by the despondency in Draco's voice as by the turn the conversation had taken. "But … Lassie doesn't think badly of the boy. He hasn't done anything wrong."

Draco's gaze pierced Harry sharp as broken glass. "Your story's over, Potter. Now I'd appreciate it if you'd leave so I can salvage what's left of my evening. And tell that interfering witch that the next time she invites me to dinner, I'm sending someone _she_ doesn't want to see. Perhaps I can arrange a weekend pass for my father so they can spend some time together."

It was a struggle to choke back his angry retort. Revenge and bickering felt natural when faced with the truculent Slytherin, but jibes about Lucius wouldn't do him any good, nor would his instinct to animate the pile of snails on Malfoy's plate. _"Everything is not a battle,"_ he reminded himself, remembering Phaedra's insights about Draco as he bought time sipping his Pernod.

But there was something else going on here, something Harry hadn't expected. It was a vein of fear running deep, making Draco withdraw and attack the instant he felt vulnerable. But what had brought him to that point? What had he revealed before that? _"Oh, Merlin,"_ Harry thought, _"could I be any more dense?"_ It wasn't Lassie any more who was afraid of what people thought. It was the boy who feared Lassie's judgment.

"The story's not over, though," said Harry carefully, bracing himself for the assault of Malfoy's anger. "Lassie knows that she hasn't always seen eye-to-eye with the boy. They've even thought they hated each other. But that's ancient history. Lassie knows who the boy is now, and she likes him. A lot."

For a long moment, Draco's fingers drummed thoughtfully on the barrel of his glass. Finally he replied, "Lassie might say that, but she doesn't really mean it. She's a conservative old dog and she hates change. Once she makes up her mind about someone, it's hard for her to change. Just look at how she was with that cat."

"Cat?" Harry frowned until the metaphor clicked into place. Ginny. "You're right," he admitted, "Lassie wasn't too smart where that cat was concerned. Lassie tried to make the cat into something she wasn't, and it wasn't fair for either of them." Summoning up every bit of courage he possessed, Harry reached out and ever so gently rubbed his finger across Draco's knuckles. "But Lassie's not going to do that with the boy."

Draco stiffened under his touch, but didn't pull his hand away. "She's not?" he asked, his voice sounding broken. "Why not?"

"Because Lassie doesn't want the boy to be anything other than who he is." Harry traced his thumb across the back of Draco's hand, feeling the tiny tremble of a heart beating too fast. He waited, willing Draco to understand what he said, to believe what he said. He waited, and against all odds, he hoped.

"Even if who he is turns out to be somebody Lassie doesn't like very much?"

"I told you, Lassie likes the boy. A lot. A whole lot. And if the boy would give Lassie a chance, she'll show him just how much."

Harry pried Draco's hand from his glass and laced his fingers between Draco's long digits. Draco studied their joined palms, his sharp teeth gnawing on his bottom lip as if unnerved by the unlikely sight. Harry thought how much he'd like to be sucking it instead, so when Draco asked, "And Lassie's not going to freak out over being gay?" Harry gave a definite shake of his head.

"No. Lassie's strangely comfortable with that."

Draco fixed his eyes on Harry's face, sizing him up with that calculating expression that Harry realised he'd missed. At last, as if some equation had fallen into place, Malfoy lifted his free hand to signal the waiter. "The bill, please. I've been called away on an urgent matter."

His account settled quickly, Draco led them out of the restaurant without a word. It was only as they were about to Apparate that the Slytherin turned to face Harry. "You've seen what I can do when I'm wronged, Potter. I swear on the crown of Nemesis that if you cross me, what we did to Krum will look li-"

The rest of the sentence was never spoken. The words were muffled against Harry's lips, swallowed down his throat. Would threats always taste like this on Draco's tongue, he wondered? Was this Draco's true flavour, this sharp bite of liquorice, with the hint of sweetness tempering its darkness? Harry couldn't say for sure, but he was definitely ready to find out.

 

Harry Potter was not destined to have the perfect life. He wouldn't live in the perfect cottage beside his two best friends or marry his perfect girlfriend in a perfect wedding. No, with Draco, he was destined for rampant rows and horrific hexes, obstinacy and aggravation so relentless that his brain would ache, and in-laws who were anything but fond of him. But he would have kisses tasting of liquorices, and he would live and love like he never had before -- with an infinite quantity of hope.

 

~~~ The End ~~~


End file.
